Heartshaped Box: the Treasure of Peter Pan
by theNEWanias
Summary: When a young girl is kidnapped and taken to Neverland, she uncovers the lost truths about that legendary boy: Peter Pan. His secrets, his flaws, his deepest treasure. He gaurds it jealously, but if Princess Rose is to help Peter, she must unlock it. OC
1. Prologue

Across the Pond

I remember when we first moved to England: I was five years old, and had never even _seen_ an airplane before. It was winter – deep into December – and I remember being very, very confused. I didn't cry, as most children probably would have, but I was scared. I was scared because I was leaving everything I had ever known: my house, my friends, my school, everything.

My mother was English, and while I'm not sure as to why exactly we left the States, I think it was because my mother was homesick. But like I said, I'm not sure. My father had met her when he went as an exchange student to London, and they had been pen-pals, and eventually, high school sweethearts. What my parents have is true love.

When we got to London, my fear had melted into sleep, mostly because of the time change: that had baffled me. I remember it being dark out when my head was telling me that it should be sunny. It was very cold and the ground had been covered with snow. We'd ridden in a very nice black taxi cab, and I have memory of my father – James to my mother, Jimmy to his friends – carrying me in his arms into the house.

Once we were inside, there was a lot of hustle and bustle and chaos and I wasn't really sure if it was a good thing, but I was much too tired to care. I had been warming up with some hot chocolate on one of my aunt's plush couches when I was suddenly awake: a very old lady was standing at the top of the steps. She wasn't ugly old, not at all. In fact, she was a very gorgeous old. Her beautiful silvery-white hair was long and straight, and she didn't appear to be losing any of it. She was wrinkled, like most elderly folk, but not in that gross way that makes all old people appear to be exactly alike. Her wrinkles were small and undefined.

I gasped when she smiled at me and started walking down the stairs. I was snapped out of my amazement by a voice: "Grandmother Wendy, is everything alright? You shouldn't be up and about so late at night!" it was the stern voice of my Aunt Linda.

"I just thought I would come down to see my beautiful great-granddaughter. And here she is," the old lady sat beside me.

I had never felt so close to a stranger before, but for some reason, I felt safe when I leaned into her warmth. She didn't have an old-person smell, either; she smelled nice, like peppermint. Peppermint and…something else. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, though.

As the night wore on, my parents insisted I go to bed, and I was too tired to complain. Aunt Linda made to get up, but Grandmother Wendy – I refused to call her great-grandmother because she didn't look that old – objected and said that she would tuck me in. I trailed behind her noiselessly as she walked slowly up the stairs and showed me my bedroom.

It was very large and had pretty pink walls, and lots and lots of toys! A large dollhouse sat in the corner with all kinds of furniture and dolls; there were bunches of stuffed animals, a cute little china tea set with the pictures all in baby-blue. There were little toy trucks and cars, and a model of Big Ben and the Palace – the Palace came with a set of tin soldiers. But my favorite thing was small: a music box. It was made of cherry wood, and when I opened it up, two little figurines came out: one was a boy, dressed in green. The other was a fairy, and it played an absolutely strange, yet beautiful tune. All chiming bells and small chirps. I shut it and looked at Grandmother Wendy.

"Do you like it?"

I nodded slowly.

"That was my favorite when I was your age too. It still is." She smiled. I offered it to her, but she pushed my hand back. "No sweetheart, you keep it. And keep it safe."

When Grandmother had tucked me in, I said, "But Grandmother Wendy, I'm not sleepy!"

She turned to me and then to the clock and said, "Well, I suppose it's not too late for a story." She went to the old bookcase and pulled out a very old, leather-bound book. I don't remember what the story was about to this day, for I am too old now to remember it. Well, old in a manner of speaking, I suppose…. But what I do remember – though that is precious little – are the pirates, the Indians, the magic, and a boy. A boy who could fly….


	2. Chapter One: Serve the Ego

One: Never Grow Up

It was December 11, 1998, and I was turning sixteen in approximately twenty-four hours. There had been a huge storm the day before, and it had lasted long into the night. When I awoke that morning, I had jumped out of bed and run out into the back yard and – much to the displeasure of my father and Aunt Linda – dove into the piles of snow. In my pajamas. I came back into the house and went upstairs to take a bath before breakfast, and tried to decide what to do for the day: we had Friday off at school this week because of a teacher meeting: we always had one Friday a month off. I thought I might go visit one of our neighbors who lived down the street. He was elderly, but much like my Grandmother Wendy, he didn't look the part. In fact, I do believe that he was older than Wendy, which is hard to believe. I never found out how old he was exactly, but I know that he was a little over one hundred.

His name was Maynard, and he was a very kind old man. He always told the best stories to me when I was younger, and even as I got older, I enjoyed hearing his fairy-tales. But before I left, I decided to say hello to Grandmother Wendy.

She still held that almost youthful look that I remembered her having the day I met her, but she was getting old. I knew it because I could see it in her eyes and the way she walked and talked. She seemed to be missing something.

I went in and said good morning to her, and she smiled when she saw it as me. She patted the spot of bed beside her, motioning me to sit down. I did. "So," she said, her voice raspy and tired with the cold. "My little darling is turning sixteen. This is a very special time for you, sweetheart." She smiled a slow, cracked smile.

"I know, Grandma."

She placed a cold hand over mine. "You don't sound like you know. Tell Grandmother Wendy what's troubling you."

I hesitated. "Well, it's just…everyone has been telling me that this is a special time in my life, a time to grow up. But if it's so special, then why don't I feel special?"

Wendy seemed to contemplate this for a minute or two before finally looking at me. She had her serious face on. "Well my love, I think that whoever told you those things said something slightly untrue." She sat up in bed and folded her hands in her lap. "You don't have to grow up just yet. In due time, I suppose you will, at least a little bit, but that time is not now." She thought a little bit longer. I'd grown accustomed to waiting for her to finish her thoughts. "But sixteen _is_ a very special age, or at least, it was for me. And maybe it's just my old woman intuition, but something tells me that it will be special for you, too."

"Why was it special for you, Grandma?"

She closed her eyes and sighed, a smile forming blissfully on her lined face. "Well," she said, "It was when I was sixteen that I got to travel to exotic places –"

"You mean for school?" I couldn't hold myself back this time. Wendy blinked in confusion at my outburst.

"No my love, not quite. I went on my own, at around this time of year."

"Where did you go? Burma? China? Egypt?" I was suddenly very curious.

"No, goodness child, I went farther than that! It wasn't a very long flight though. And the company was nice…."

I was about to ask more questions when I noticed she'd fallen asleep. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and left to go see Maynard.

Maynard's house has always been – and always will be, I suspect – very cluttered. He likes to collect things. Little things. Big things. Odd things. Pretty things. Anything. There are always pictures on his walls, always things hanging down from the ceiling: chandeliers, marionettes, and things of that nature. The shelves are covered with books, models of ships, maps, music boxes, toys, jars, corked bottles, anything to take up some more room.

The carpets on the floors are all from exotic, far-off places, most of which he either cannot remember or refuses to tell anyone. The furniture too, has come from distant lands, or so he says. His dishes are mixed up; no two plates or forks go together.

I love his house.

I stepped cautiously up the steps of the grand house, careful not to slip on the marble, and knocked loudly on the front door. A loud "Come in!" came floating through the door. Maynard didn't believe in hired assistance. He said it wasn't necessary.

I pushed on the large white doors and made my way into the house, trying not to step on anything or knock anything over. He was probably in the sitting room, as usual. I found him sitting in a very large, pouf of a chair. He cracked a wide, toothy grin when he saw me. "Alle, How wonderful to see you! Come in, come in." He pushed aside some clutter to make room. I sat down on the floor before him. "Would you like some tea, or a story?"

I smiled, "Well tea would be nice, but I didn't come for a story today. I need advice on the real world."

"But my stories _are_ real! As real as the Atlantic beside us!" he said. I shook my head.

"Maynard, my father says it's time for me to grow up."

He shook his head and made little "tsk, tsk," noises. "No, not yet, I'm afraid. Don't make the same mistake I made, little one. Never grow up. You can mature, of course, but never, ever grow up."

"Why?"

"Because grown-ups are boring." He winked, and I laughed. "And besides," he added, taking a sip of his tea, "All grown-ups have to die someday." He seemed to be looking out at something past my head.

"Well, I suppose you've beaten most of us there, huh Maynard?" I smiled.

"Well little one, not entirely. I am grieved to say that I am growing up a little bit, finally. And unfortunately, so is your Grandmother Wendy. I daresay she let go of childhood some time ago."

"But," I was frightened now, "But why?"

"That is her reason to tell, Alle, not mine. And don't you go pestering her for it either! That's all she needs." He seemed frozen in that serious manner for several long, silent minutes before it melted away. "Just do what you can to have fun, little one." And then the phone rang from somewhere deep in the chasm of confusion. Maynard jumped to answer it, but first he had to find it. I sniggered as I listened to him curse as he tripped over things and then pick up the receiver. "Hello? … Yes, yes she is. …Yes of course, Mr. Williamson. Right over. …You too, Mr. Williamson, good-bye!" and the phone clicked. "Right then," Maynard wandered his way back over to me. "Your father just called, he wants you home."

"Oh. Alright. Good-bye, Maynard."

"Good-bye." I began walking toward the door, but then I paused. I'd wanted to ask something like this for a long time.

"Maynard?"

"Yes?"

"Do…do you think my mum died because…because she was too grown up?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. I do. Your mother was a great woman, Alle, but she was too responsible. Too realistic. Don't let reality snatch you away."

"I know. Thanks, Maynard."

"Anytime. Good-bye, and happy birthday!"

That night, it had started to snow again, and as is custom for the night before one's birthday, I couldn't sleep. I lay awake all night it seemed, or at least until four in the morning. At one point, when I was too restless to even lie down still, I got up and decided to look at the old dollhouse that Grandmother Wendy had left in the room.

I'd never really felt the need to change the room, even as my friends and I began to grow older. They always wondered why I never painted it or took out the toys. When I explained to them about how much Grandmother Wendy loved this room the way it was, they simply replied, "But it's _your_ room." They never understood. I didn't expect them to.

I played with the dolls absentmindedly as I ran over what Grandmother Wendy and Maynard had said. "Don't grow up," I whispered into the dark, "Grown-ups die." It made sense in that way you always hope things will.

I got up on an impulse and sat at the window. My mother had always hated for me to sit near the windows, once we moved to London, but especially when I sat in _my_ window. She would never have let me. _But she's dead, now_, I thought with despair. It had been five years – almost six – since my mother had died. We don't know what happened: she just left in her sleep. But maybe Maynard was right: maybe she had become too grown up. I still got chills when I would visit her gravestone: _Molly Williamson, 1955-1993_.

Suddenly, the long glass windowpanes began to shake violently as the wind picked up, the snow swirling in all directions, and somewhere in the distance, behind the Clock Tower, there was a flash of green light! I was excited; it felt as though something strange and mysterious was going to happen. I waited and waited. I don't know how long I must have sat at that window, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever did. The wind calmed down, the snow fell regularly again, and the light was gone as soon as it had come.

I hung my head, disappointed. I looked up just once more in search of something spectacular, but nothing came to me. I stood and made my way solemnly back to bed, and slept until dawn.

The next morning when I awoke, the house was snowed in. I didn't mind so much; I think my father and Aunt Linda were more disappointed than I was about not being able to not go out for my birthday. There was no power, either, and dad was a little upset over having no television, but once again, I didn't care.

I went upstairs to visit Grandmother Wendy, but when I did, she was asleep. So I just sat by the window and looked out over the icy streets of London, trying to imagine what they might have looked like so very long ago. I was still silently contemplating the appearance of those streets when my aunt came upstairs to check on Grandmother Wendy.

"Allegra, get down from that window this instant!" she shouted at me in that screechy voice of hers.

"But Aunt Linda, why?" I asked, feeling rather like a child.

"Yes Linda, why?" the shouting must have woken Wendy.

"Grandmother Wendy," Aunt Linda's voice sounded suddenly strangled, as though she were trying to keep from yelling at the old woman, "You of all people know every well _why_. Don't encourage her!"

"I will do as I see fit." I'd never seen Grandmother Wendy look so severe before. Linda looked from me to Grandmother Wendy and back, then sighed in defeat. "Now, what did you come up here for?"

"Well…never mind that. I forget after all this nonsense." And with that, she stomped out the room in a quiet fury. I could hear her muttering things like, "Molly would never approve!" and "Grandma ought to know better!" all the way down the hall.

I was glad to see that Grandmother Wendy's face had settled into a comfortable smile now that Aunt Linda had gone. "Come child, sit with me." I did. "Happy birthday," she said approvingly.

"Thank you." I sat down.

"I have a present for you, my love." As every child does, my ears perked at the word, 'present.' She pulled from out of her bedside table drawer a long, velvet box with a green ribbon tied around it. "Here you go, darling."

"Thank you, Grandma." I took it and opened it. Inside was a golden skeleton key, hung on a brown leather string. The head of the key was shaped like an elaborate heart, and on the body of the key was engraved in a messy scrawl, _Burried Treasure_. "Grandma, what is it?"

She looked at me for a moment and smiled, "Something you will need very soon, I suspect."

The key was nice, but its make was untidy and clumsy without being careless. It looked as though it had been made with love, but a very foolish love.

"But why shall I need it?"

"Just keep it close to your heart, Alle. Take it off as seldom as you can spare."

"Alright."

"Now," she said, "go downstairs and enjoy the rest of your birthday."

I left, unknowing of the fate that would befall me, and how much I really would need that key.

Somehow, Maynard's present made it into my hands before the Journey: a beautiful old sword. It's a good thing he remembered to put a note on it: _Open in private_. Otherwise, I might not have it, and thank god I kept it with me.

It was a pretty thing: a golden hilt encrusted with emeralds and ambers bordered by a shimmering silver blade. The one thing: it was dull. But then again, what would _I_ ever do with a sword? _Maybe he thought I'd value its beauty_. I thought as I ran a finger down the blade. Then, I found the note in the bottom of the box:

_Dear Allegra,_

_I do not know whether or not you have received your Key, but this should come in handy someday. May it light your way in the darkest corners of the world, and protect you from all manner of "pirates."_

_Yours sincerely, _

Maynard "Smee" Johnston 

I pretended for days with that sword: imagining myself having great adventures. But alas, that's all it ever was for me: pretend. Besides, a sixteen-year-old girl shouldn't be playing with dull swords and imaginary pirates.

Or at least, that's what I thought.


	3. Chapter Two: The Golden Boy

Two: Peter

For days and days, that strange feeling I'd had by the window the night of the blizzard had plagued me. But nothing ever happened: every time my heart would race, and I'd expect some sort of magic to come and whisk me away, but in the end, that's all it was – a feeling. Anticipation became my closest companion and my most hated enemy.

Then, finally, a week after my birthday – and three days before Christmas – something happened. I'm not entirely sure if I'm correct about everything, because at the time I thought I was having a simply wonderful dream, but I will try.

The blizzard had returned again, and it was as frigid as ever. Christmas Holidays had freed me from school yet again, and I was counting down the days in my head as I began to nod off to sleep. That night, I learned to trust my instincts, because something told me to wear the key to bed, and to keep the sword as close as possible. I'm so very glad I did.

I was barely awake when I saw the little hand on my ancient grandfather clock strike midnight, and was hardly disturbed by the chiming of the bells. However, after the twelfth bell chimed its last tone, something magical happened: the window my mother had feared all these years opened, and in flew what looked like a firefly. The firefly zipped around my room for a moment, and then hovered in front of my face for a second before flying right back out the window, making high-pitched noises of alarm.

_Wait_, I thought, _Fireflies don't make noises…do they?_

But before I had time to give it anymore thought, the firefly was back, this time with a _boy_ in tow! I sat up in bed, now fully awake and alert to his presence: he was very tattered-looking – his red hair was disheveled and there was dirt on his face. His clothes – a dilapidated green tunic and what looked to be very old, brown corduroy shorts – were practically rags. He was the strangest boy I'd ever seen! Thin, golden bangles decorated his wrists and one ankle. In one ear, there was a green feather dangling from a golden chain.

"Good, you're up." He said to me.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, no time to waste, we're already late as it is."

"What?"

He ignored me. "Tink, do you think you can lend me a hand here?"

There was the sound of chiming bells from the firefly.

"Thanks." The boy pulled me out of bed – in my pajamas, for crying out loud! – and pushed me toward the little glowing bug. Then, it sneezed on me! Glittering bug-dust covered me.

"What the –" I asked.

The tattered boy turned to me and said, "Fairy dust."

Now I was absolutely sure I was dreaming. "Hey!" I shouted when I saw that he was taking my sword.

"Well, you won't be able to carry it, will you? Not while you're flying for the first time." He looked perfectly serious – a look I would soon learn wasn't natural for this particular boy.

"_Flying?_ Where to?"

"Why, Neverland of course!" My jaw dropped. "Wait, wait, wait." He said, crossing his arms and walking towards me. "You _are_ Molly Darling's daughter, right? Just turned sixteen about a week ago, _right_?" Now he looked uncertain – another rare occurrence.

"Williamson." Was all I could stutter out. "Williamson, not Darling. My mother's last name is Williamson." I stood there, watching the boy, who to my utmost surprise levitated form the floor to sit on top of my grandfather clock, legs crossed and finger to his chin in thought. I noticed that there was just the slightest trace of red hair there.

"Well," he said, holding out a finger so the firefly could sit comfortably. "This _is_ a dilemma." I thought about crawling safely back to bed, but was too interested not to watch. "Tink, you don't think Molly might have moved away, do you?"

Chiming bells.

"That's true, but…"

More chiming bells.

"No! She couldn't have!"

Angry chiming bells. They sounded chastising.

"Well…then again, she _did_ say her mother's name was Molly."

"That's right." I put in, not even sure why I felt bad for this strange boy.

The boy came down to the carpeted floor with a soft thump, and held out his hand. "Well then, under the circumstances, I think it's only appropriate to leave with you _anyway_. Come on then, let's fly."

"Um…_how_, exactly?" I'd given up and just accepted this strange set of events.

"You've got your fairy dust, now all you need to do is think a happy thought!" he smiled.

_Happy thoughts…fairy dust…Tink_… and then, it came to me: "I know who you are!" I gasped.

His grin widened, mirroring the half moon outside my window.

"_You're_ Peter Pan!"

Now he looked perplexed. "Pan? No. Peter. _Just_ Peter." He said. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, happy thoughts. Well, go on." I tried. I tried with all my might…but never did I leave the ground. Suddenly I heard him make a noise of pity. "Can't find one, my dear? Well then, I'll just have to help you out until you do. Come on, into my arms."

"_What_?"

"Well, I can't just leave you here! Wendy would have me hanged!" He held out his arms in a wide gesture, as though he were about to hug me. As I climbed awkwardly into his embrace, I heard those bells again: they sounded angry. "Oh shut up, Tink. You're not my mother." Just then, he swept me upward so that I was being baby-cradled. I screeched a little, but he said, "Shhh, you'll be fine. You're with me!" and so we set off.

Flying was amazing, even if I couldn't do it myself. I couldn't really tell how we were supposed to get to Neverland though. I watched, half asleep as we passed over grand oceans and flew by great stars and felt slightly off balance just as we passed the moon. Then suddenly Peter said, "Hold on tight!" and that I did, because we sped into a dive, a steep dive all the way into a cold ocean.

And the next thing I remember, I was asleep.

When I awoke in the morning, I expected to see my own ceiling. I thought I would go downstairs to see Aunt Linda and father eating breakfast. I thought wrong.

When I opened my eyes and looked to where the ceiling should be, there was a large expanse of red and purple cloth shielding me from the full force of sunlight. When I sat up to take in my surroundings, I hit my head on something hard and it swung back and forth before me: an old, vine-covered lamp, hanging by a chain. Inside was a half-used candle. I had been sleeping on a mat of blankets and pillows, and then I realized what the walls were made of. When I moved the wall tapestries to the side, there were smoothed sticks and planks of wood patched clumsily together with some sort of resin, and to top it all off, twine.

_This is ridiculous_, I thought to myself.

"Oh, it's not all that bad, cheer up!" I scooted backward as fast as I could when I saw him hovering in front of my now open door.

"You again!" I pointed, scared almost to death.

He laughed heartily, "Good morning to you too, mademoiselle." His laugh would have been infectious, if not for my anger.

"Where am I?" I shouted, allowing the anger to rise in my voice. "And how do I get back home?"

"My dear, welcome to Neverland." He said, pulling the curtains aside. "And there is no way back for you…until you learn how to fly, at any rate." He was smirking, but I just couldn't see the humor.

"_Neverland_? Sure." I said, very unwilling to believe this madness.

"You don't believe me?" he asked. I shook my head. "Well then, explain this." He waved his hand in a vague gesture of our surroundings.

"A dream." He came in and sat down beside me, our arms brushing. I could hear his breath. "A very vivid dream." I thought for a moment.

Just then, a tiny gold light darted into the makeshift room and started barraging Peter with a lot of ringing. She came nearer and nearer to his pale face, and he kept backing away until he reached a wall.

"Alright, alright, alright already! Jeeze! Woman, get a grip!" I couldn't help but laugh since he sounded very frightened.

"Scared by a fairy princess, Peter?" I asked.

"No way. She's no more a fairy princess than I am. That's one devil of a pixie, that is." He sounded disgusted…but I could tell he cared about her all the same. "Treats me as if she was my mum or something."

Just then, the bug – Tinkerbell, I mean – came over and sat gently on my arm. From this angle, I could see her much better: she was a slender thing, with long blond hair and beady blue eyes…but pretty nonetheless. Then she spoke, and through all the chiming muddle, I began to understand her. "Alle, don't let Peter get to you."

"Get to me? Whatever do you mean?" I asked. Just then, Peter's ears perked.

"Yes, get to you. At the eternal age of eighteen, he certainly has a fondness for girls." I heard Peter make a noise that resembled, 'pfft!' "I'm serious, my dear girl. He has girlfriends: a mermaid or two, some girls from Pirate Cove, even some of the lost girls!"

I started to laugh.

"You'd do well to watch yourself – my dear sweet Peter is a real heartbreaker. Quite the little whore, if I do say so myself…and I do – "

"NOW JUST ONE BLOODY MOMENT!!" Peter jabbed his face between us. "Don't you heed a word of it, Alle! Tink's just being a pain in the –"

"Now Peter," Tinkerbell interrupted, "I've never known you to swear in the presence of a lady." She mocked him.

"You know Tink, you're right." Suddenly, a look of haughtiness crossed his face, "And if it weren't for the fact that our guest is here, I'd swear."

Tinkerbell shook with fury and zipped away.

After a while, I spoke, giving in to this…dream? Reality? Whatever. "Um, Peter, what do we do now?"

He looked at me with livening green eyes. "Whatever – we – want."

I'd done a lot of exploring on my own mostly, and what a place this was: Peter and his lost boys (and girls) lived in a vast tree house, and everyone had their own rooms. Some rooms – like mine – were built on branches. Some were in the tree itself. Others were built on vines and chains, and were actually _hanging_ from the tree branches!

There was a kitchen and a sort of playground where the younger kids could hang out. There was a library – this surprised me a lot. There were stories – all of fiction of course, because what kid likes to read about real things? – about princesses and knights, about mermaids and about pirates. And then there were maps like you wouldn't believe! Tinkerbell told me that Peter had drawn them up himself. There weren't just maps of Neverland, but also of the ocean and something called the "Starlands."

Eventually though, I became bored with the tree house; I went to find Peter. He was flying around, making a right spectacle of himself: he had on a very elegant crimson coat with gold fastenings, and a black hat with a bright red plume. "Well, don't _you_ look smashing?" I said sarcastically.

"I know."

I rolled my eyes. "Peter, would you show me around Neverland?"

There was a very loud round of catcalls and whistles just then. It took me a moment to realize what everyone was so worked up over: it sounded like I wanted an intimate moment with Peter…the farthest thing from my mind.

"Why, of course m'lady. I'm assuming you have yet to fly?"

"Yes." I felt – to my surprise – resentful that I had not yet learned.

"Come on then," he said cheerfully, holding out his arms once more.

"We can't just walk?"

"No." I sighed, but obliged.

When we took off, his cocky smile faded and was replaced by a normal flash of teeth. "So, where did you want to go?"

"Oh, I don't know…how about we see the mermaids? I've always wanted to see one!"

Peter was quiet for a moment and his smile faded completely. "Um, are you sure?"

"Oh yes, please?"

"Well…oh…alright." And we turned abruptly east.

About ten minutes later, we were spiraling slowly down towards a beautiful green lagoon. It wasn't long before I heard this strange, strange noise…and then I realized what it was: voices. Women's voices.

We landed on a small rock in the middle of a lagoon and Peter set me down. I sat on the edge of the rock and dipped my feet in the water. The mermaids were all oohing and aahhing, and then,

"Peter!"

I watched Peter turn around to face the mermaid who spoke so openly. Instantly his eyes lit up. "Tequila! My darling, my baby, my love, how are you?"

She hoisted herself up onto the island next to me. She had neon green hair that faded into platinum; it was so incredibly long. "Don't you try that act on me, Peter Pa –"

"Don't say it, don't say it."

"Peter." I looked her over – she was wearing a strand of pearls around her neck. And a golden bangle around her wrist. I recognized it immediately: it was one of Peter's. I felt something…it felt almost like pity. For Tequila. "It's been longer than you promised, Peter."

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, I know. The question is, lover boy, with who?" Tequila turned to me and gently touched my lips – I couldn't seem to pull away. "Is _this_ your latest aquisition?"

"No! No I'd never…" I said, finally pulling back from Tequila's long, soft nails.

"Well…" she said, turning back to Peter, "Either way, we're over." She took off the bracelet, and threw it at Peter's feet before leaving.

Peter looked at the crowd of silent fish-girls and pouted for a moment, "Well, I've learned my lesson, girls."

"What's that, Peter?" they all chorused.

His pout broke into a beaming smile, "You win some you lose some!" There was a cheer. I couldn't help but feel a little disgusted. "I may have lost a girl but you all just won a space! So, let's see here…"

I couldn't take it anymore: I dove into the water and headed in the direction that I saw Tequila go in. I found her hiding behind a waterfall, and she was crying. "Tequila. Hey."

She looked at me with shining green eyes, all watery from her tears. "What? Come to rub it in?"

"No! I meant it when I said I'm not with Peter." I offered her my hand. She wiped a tear away. "I mean, no offense to whatever it is you two had, but…the way he's acting out there? Eww."

She looked at me, and then a crack of a smile appeared on her thin face. "Oh, I know. Believe me, I know. Peter's a slut. He'd never admit to it, but he's just so…cocky. I can't help it sometimes."

"I guess I just don't know how he can do that in good conscience."

She laughed. "Oh, he has a conscience. He's just missing a heart!" In that moment, with Tequila's laughter echoing around us and mine adding to the good mood, I never imagined how true her words would be…and I don't think she knew either. "Hey," she said, "You should probably go back. Peter's probably looking for you."

"Yeah right." I said, "Bye."

"Bye."

I waded back into the lagoon and boy was I right: there was peter, talking to a mermaid with bright magenta hair, and her breasts bared. I could easily tell who he was _really_ talking to.

"So Peter, what have you been up to lately?"

"_Up _to?" he smirked, "That depends, what were you – Alle! Hello, you're back! Hold on there, Brandi." He stood and called me over, and reluctantly – you have no idea how reluctantly – I climbed back onto the shore. "I think it's time for us to go, but we'll be back."

When we got back to the tree house, he told me to get dressed for dinner because he had, "Plans." It was only when I reached my 'room' that I realized I had no other clothes. I sighed and started planning my next move as I moved the curtain aside, and there they were: clothes. Well…sort of.

There was a white cotton shirt that was off-shoulder and some sort of green tartan skirt. I threw it on, knowing that it may very well be degrading, but it was better than wet pj's. Then, as I was pulling everything on, I noticed something: a little leather belt with a dagger on it. _What would I need this for_? I thought. And then, I saw another place for a blade. For my sword. Where it had gotten to, I wasn't sure, and I felt terrible since it had been a gift.

But there was no time to worry now.

I found my way down to the place where everyone ate, and there he was: sitting at the end of a great table in his ridiculous red coat and too-big hat. "Good evening, m'lady! So glad you could join us!" He stood and floated over towards me. "And who says we don't like pirates, eh boys?" There were lots of catcalls from the boys and low whispers from the girls.

"Cut it out, Peter." I sat down without giving much of a show.

He pouted, "But Alle…wait." He had that gleam in his eye again. "Alle. Mm…I don't like it. You need a new name."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes. If you're going to stay here in Neverland – and trust me, I _know_ you will – you're in desperate need of a good name. Alle is too…plain."

I scoffed. Who did he think he was, giving me a new name and dressing me like this and…oh right. It only then dawned on me why they call it a Peter Pan complex.

Everyone sat in silence, eating quietly and glancing around while Peter thought about what my new name was. Finally, by the time dessert rolled around, he said, "I've got it! I know what I'll name you."

"You will not name me like I'm some sort of pet. You're just _changing_ my name, that's all." I was sure to make this a point.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, _mon cherie_." He chuckled as he floated back towards me. "Bow." I hesitated, but bent a little lower than my usual posture. I felt something cold graze my shoulders, "I hereby declare that Alle shall be known as Princess Rose Moon." It never crossed my mind as to why Peter made me a supposed princess, but at the time it didn't matter: it seemed like a very wild game of pretend.

When I stood, he handed me my sword that I thought I'd lost. I couldn't help but feel grateful; I gave him a huge hug. "Thank you Peter!"

"I knew you'd like that title. Most girls do."

"No, screw the title! You gave me my sword back!" I slid it into the sheath at my side and from then on, I felt much more at ease, knowing that I had it.

"Don't expect to keep it on you without knowing how to use it. I'll teach you." He said, and before I had time to retort, he'd gone to the other end of the table again to dig into some cherry pie.

One day turned into two days, and two days into four. Days became weeks, and weeks became a few months. A lot had changed in me over the course of my stay in Neverland, but on thing remained the same: I was still the only girl who _wasn't_ infatuated with Peter.

We practiced swordplay every now and again, and I'd gotten very good. Peter had a sword of gold and the reflexes to match. He was much better at it than I'd have expected. We visited the mermaids – Tequila and I always hung out together. Brandi seemed to hold some contempt for me still. There were others that I got on with: there was Margarita, whose hair was a pretty orange color. She loved wearing starfish on her body. Peter always brought her some more whenever we would visit. There was Martini, and she favored the color blue. Her favorite piece of jewelry – was a golden bangle Peter had given her. He always brought her some sort of treasure. "From my treasure chest," he would say loudly so that all – including myself – could hear.

One day as Peter was declaring this, Tequila took me aside and said, "If he ever gives you one of those, don't believe him. It may very well have come from his treasure chest, but it is not his treasure."

"What do you mean, Tequila?"

"None of us knows what it is, but I know for a fact that Peter has another treasure."

"Really, now?" I was intrigued. Peter didn't seem the type to keep secrets.

"Yes. It lies in the middle of the Far Lake, near the Frigid Mountains. It is in the exact middle and at the very bottom. I've seen it, once. But Peter became so mad with me that he wouldn't speak to me for a whole month."

I was in awe. "It must be something really special then."

She grabbed a hold of my arm. "Rose," I'd become accustomed to this name – Alle had become long forgotten. "Whatever it is, I think it's alive."

"Alive?" I gasped.

"There was a heartbeat from inside the chest."

Never before had I been so curious about Peter.


	4. Chapter Three: Planxty

Three: Never, Never Land

The day did come when I asked Peter to take me outside of his territory. He was curious as to where I had in mind. I told him, no – I didn't want to go to Pirate Cove yet. No, I didn't want to see the rivers yet. And no, no way did I want to see Hangman's Island.

"I don't blame you – it's a pretty somber place. Some of my best friends died there." He said this so casually!

"Peter, I…I'm sorry."

"Not a big deal. Some of us die. Then again," he pointed at himself, and the ego was back, "Some of us don't." There was silence for a moment. "So, where _do_ you want to go?"

I took a deep breath; I'd been plotting this for weeks. "The Frigid Mountains."

He didn't look mad, just curious. "Really, why?"

"I've just heard so much about them. I wanted to see them for myself."

He smirked. "You know, they're said to be one of the most romantic places in all of Neverland."

"Peter, you don't know romance, you only know sex."

"And there's nothing wrong with that; I'm a perpetually eighteen-year-old boy. To me, they're practically the same thing."

I _still_ had yet to fly, so I had to be carried. I was getting sick of it because it gave Peter a little bit of leverage over me. Just a little.

We reached the mountains in the late afternoon, and Peter set to work at getting the tent up. I walked around, taking in the scenery. It was cold, but not the way earth-mountains are. It wasn't freezing, even though there was snow. It was just kind of a dry cool.

Suddenly, I screeched: a gaggle of penguins came out of nowhere, and I hadn't been expecting it. Peter turned but laughed when he saw what gave me such a fright.

"Don't scream like that, Rose, you'll make me think one of the Tigers has come up this way."

"Um, sorry Peter, but…_tigers_?"

"Yes, Tigers. They're huge. And very, very smart. Don't ever get caught alone with one unless you can fly, and even then I wouldn't reccomend it." He went back to pitching the tent while I played with the penguins. They were friendly and cute and fun to watch.

Eventually though, I told Peter I was going for a walk. I meandered over the rocky precipices until I found the western edge of the mountains: from here, I could see _everything_. Looking to the south, I saw two islands. _One of those must be Hangman's Island_. I thought. To the east was a vast desert, and I had to squint to see that there was an end to it. And then, I saw it: the Far Lake. At first, I thought it was a trick of the wind, but no. There was no doubt about it: the lake had a pulse. It glowed in the neon blush of dusk.

I must have sat there for hours before going back, because it was dark by the time I left. I found Peter making dinner over a fire. We ate in silence mostly – something I never associated with Peter. Finally, he spoke.

"So, what do think about the mountains?"

"They're beautiful." I sincerely meant that.

He smiled, wiping sauce from his mouth. "Just wait until you see them at daybreak." He took another bite, and then said, "These mountains are good places to learn how to fly. Or at least, they were for me." It was hard for me to imagine Peter unable to fly, because that was the only way I knew him.

"Should I practice?"

"Yes." A pause. "Your form is great, you have enough fairy dust…your problem is your happy thought. What's the happiest memory?"

"I…I think I lost it a while ago, Peter. My…my mum died."

Peter looked down into the crackling flames, "Oh. I'm sorry." He sounded monotone.

"Peter?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"How…how did you know my mother?"

He became very, very stiff. "I met your mother through your grandmother, and your great grandmother before her: Wendy." He was quiet.

I wondered if the story was true. "You loved Wendy, didn't you." It didn't deserve a question mark.

He dipped his head low before answering in his quietest voice, "Yes." There was a wall that came crashing down around us. "You don't know. She was so beautiful, and so kind. But she did not love me enough to stay in Neverland. She got married, and had your grandmother…who I too got to know. Then she also became a wife, and had your mother."

"Peter…"

"Your mother looked just like Wendy. I loved her too. But never the way I loved Wendy. Never. I've suffered for a hundred years because of Wendy, and I'm still waiting for someone to come along to end it."

Everything about Peter is a learning experience, whether I want it to be or not. That day in the Frigid Mountains was no exception: he made me hike the whole way up to the very tallest peak of the very highest mountain; it may not have been as cold as the name described, but it was trying nonetheless.

The snow, although dry and indifferent to temperature, was deep; there were strong winds that seemed to push me in all directions; Peter was undeniably one of the most infuriating "cheerleaders" you can ever imagine having. He wasn't very good at encouragement, but at put-downs, he excelled.

"You're not trying hard enough!" He would shout over the wind, or, "Come on, I can fly in this gale! Move!" Oh, it got worse, I just don't want to relive it.

Finally, I lost my temper: "What in hell does this have to do with me learning how to fly?!"

He hovered there for a while, miraculously undisturbed by the howling winds. Then, in as pleasant a voice as you can imagine, he said with a smile, "If you can't even _walk_ in this weather, how do you expect to fly in it?"

I hated that: he could always make a point out of something…sometimes, out of nothing. "I hate you, sometimes."

He laughed. "You know you want it."

I muttered curses after him the whole way up.

By the time we reached the pinnacle of the highest mountain – The Chair of Neverland, Peter called it – I was almost unable to breathe. Had we been on earth, I doubt I could have. Luckily for me (and Peter, I suppose) the Magic of Neverland kept us breathing.

Peter came to stand beside me in the snow and held me up while I caught my breath. Once I did this, he looked at me, those mischievous emerald eyes sparkling with maniacal glee. A single word escaped those thin lips: "Ready?"

"What for?"

"Jump."

Silence but for the wind. "WHAT? _Are you mad?!_"

He chuckled, "Perhaps." Then, he did something I still can't forgive him for: he pushed me off the top of that mountain. I never did regain a real memory of that fall…but I'll tell you what – it hurt. It hurt like all hell and then some.

So after my blackout, I remember waking up in the tree house, bandaged and bruised in my room. There, sitting on the ledge of my tree branch was a lost girl whom I recognized as Suzanna. "Oh my goodness! You're awake! Thank god!" She rushed into my room and checked my temperature, asked me if I wanted food, that sort of thing. She was very kind to me. "We were all ever so worried about you when Peter told us what happened!"

I watched with a pinch of anger as a flash of gold embellished the way her tiny wrists moved. I suddenly hated that pretty golden hair – those bright, almond-colored eyes. But still, I couldn't deny that she'd taken care of me.

"Really now? What did…what did he say?" It was a strain just to speak.

"Oh, it truly is wretched: thinking that one of our own – Princess, at that! – took a tumble off the top of the Chair of Neverland! What did you slip on? A stray piece of ice?"

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her pale skin was flushed with embarrassment. "You don't have to tell me if it brings up bad memories. I was just curious."

And then it hit me: she thought I'd fallen in an accident. And judging by this, so did everyone else. Peter. Peter, that bastard had lied! The ass who'd pushed me off a cliff lied and told everyone that I'd slipped! Like it was _my_ own clumsy fault! "No," I said as flatly as I could, "It's fine. I – I did hit a loose patch of ice."

Sometimes, I still regret defending his decision to lie.

It took a grand total of two weeks for those injuries to heal, and even longer than that for the emotional damage to be repaired. What really hurt the most was how Peter just…went on living, like nothing ever happened.

Of course, being me, I couldn't just let him go.

I cornered him one day, and the quietest of battles ensued. "You fucking liar."

"Pardon?" he sounded cheerful as ever.

"I can't believe you! How could you go and pull a stunt like that?" I knew my hands were already up in the air as I spoke. "Going and pushing me off a mountain – almost to my _death_ – and then telling everyone that it was _my own_ stupid mistake? _WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU_?"

He stood from a map he was looking at and crossed over his desk to linger in the air just before me. "Nothing is wrong with me, Rose. Then again…there's not too much that's right, either." There was that goddamned smirk.

"You really don't care, do you?" I could feel my body shake with anger.

"I wouldn't go that far." He was feigning hurt. Those stupid lips pouted as if he thought it would save him. I wouldn't answer. "Look," he sighed, the first real sign I'd seen in a long time that remotely resembled frustration. "I never meant for you to get hurt. I felt awful, ok? But I was trying to help you."

"Oh yes, just toss me off the highest point in Neverland you can dream up, Peter! That'll do it!"

"No, you don't understand! Socratic method: either you'd be forced out of fear to fly, or in your final moments of life, you'd dream up something happy. It made sense in _my_ mind." His voice drifted softly into the carpet.

He pulled from his left wrist a golden bangle, tossed it at my feet. I picked it up to examine it, but clenched my fist around it. "I'm not one of your skank girlfriends, Peter! I won't be mollified by a cheap trinket of your fake affections!"

He wouldn't look at me, only the section of wall just above my head. "Take it, nevertheless." His voice was broken; agitated. I could see his face coloring to match his scarlet hair, and yet, there was no pulse of a vein in his neck: no pulsating sign of human anger.

"No." I threw it back at him.

He bent gently down to pick it up. He sighed and walked over to me, taking my wrist and forcing it on my arm. "It's a gift." When he turned his back on me, I screamed and pulled hard at the thin piece of gold. It snapped into pieces – the sound seemed to reverberate across time.

Peter's shoulders were shaking. Never before had he endured hearing that sound. Never before had he truly been rejected. I suddenly felt very bad for what I'd done. "Peter, I – I'm sorry."

"Get out."

"I –"

"GET OUT, _NOW_!" I'd never heard him scream like that. I ran from the room and chased my own shadow into my room, staying there for the remainder of the night. I didn't even show up for dinner. I've been told that although – by obligation – Peter went to dinner that night, it was as though he were made of stone.

That fight had seemed so loud to me, but I know that we were the only ones who heard it. It was our first secret, and a very shameful first secret at that.

* * *

A/n: Thank you so, so, so much to all who've reviewed so far! It means so much to me!

xo, annie.


	5. Chapter Four: Don't You Know Who I Am?

Four: Flygirl

As if the fact that Peter had lied wasn't heart wrenching enough, he proceeded to add insult to injury: the day after the fight, he treated me just as he had before we ever even went into those blasted mountains. He smiled at me; he waved; he said hi; he just went on living as if nothing had ever happened. Like not a thing in the world had gone wrong…and who knows? Maybe for him, nothing had.

Those few months had grown. They had grown right under my very nose into one monster of a year, and before I knew it, I was seventeen. I remember very vividly that I was the one who forgot my own birthday. It was shocking: learning that I was seventeen. A whole year of growing up without knowing it – except, that's what it was like in Neverland. I _couldn't_ grow up: there was nothing to know. Nothing to keep track of. In Neverland, birthdays become just another reason to whip up a fancy cake and make a mess of life in general.

Of course, by this time, I'd forgiven – but not forgotten – what Peter had done. I still hadn't forgiven myself though: a whole year spent in Neverland, and I _still_ couldn't fly: I felt like a failure. I'm not the only one who had yet to forgive me: even though Peter played on the outside that everything was ok and fine and that me breaking one of his prized tokens of affection (however imagined) didn't matter, it really wasn't too hard to figure out; he was still very upset with me.

I never confronted him about it. Not after what had happened. I was too scared, because believe it or not, I kind of enjoyed having that brat around. And I'm pretty sure he felt the same way.

It must have been spring: the lagoon seemed extra-lovely and the mermaids were every single one of them more attracted to Peter than ever. Even Tequila, who had still kept her vow intact, was having a hard time keeping her hands off him.

We talked about this in the pool one day while Peter was off "chatting" with Martini in a grotto somewhere…ew.

"So, I heard about what you did to him."

"What? What are you talking about?" I was so clueless.

Tequila smiled. "I'm proud of you, Rose. You didn't give in to Peter."

"Oh." I said, bringing my arms to my sides in the water. Even after so many months, this was an uncomfortable subject for me. "I'm not."

"But why?" she asked, tilting her lovely green locks to the left.

"I'm not sure."

I felt as if our conversation was going nowhere, when…

"Why, hello there, ladies. And how are we this fine afternoon?" Peter came gliding from out of nowhere – in the water, thankfully, because unfortunately for me, he was naked. As much happiness as this brought Tequila, I got nothing from it.

"Peter, go put something on." I said.

"I'm tired. I think I'll sit here and rest." He knew he was irritating me, and I think he was enjoying it.

I watched as Tequila looked as much of him as was available over before averting her eyes.

I grimaced as Peter leaned on my shoulder and placed a bare arm around my waist. "Peter, fuck off."

He craned his neck back so that he could sulk at me.

"It's not going to work. Either go put some damned clothes on or don't show up at all." I wanted _sooooooo_ badly to pull away, but didn't want to run into Tequila. A naked guy was awkward enough, but I had only just gotten used to seeing bare breasts everywhere I turned in this lagoon.

He rubbed his bony shoulder against my arm and said, "Please sweetie, just let me stay?" He widened his eyes.

"Get off of me, Peter!" I pushed him away from me and he splashed and spluttered backward. He hesitated for just a second before launching himself – yes, all five feet and nine inches of his (_eww_!) naked self at me in the water. I tried to back up, but stumbled on a rock or something and ended up being pushed under the water with Peter on top of me.

There was a moment under that water where something strange happened: for a split second in time, seeing Peter's face smiling at me, his hair all in watery disarray, I was turned on. For less than a second, I thought about having sex with Peter.

The next thing I knew, I was out of the water and in the air.

Peter came up for breath just as confused as I was, and Tequila was laughing her tail off (she has no ass, really). I remember seeing him looking around frantically, as if he was scared I'd drowned or some better fate than this. Tequila was practically wiping tears away when she could finally answer Peter's question: "Where is she?"

Tequila pointed at the rugged stone roof of the little cave we were in.

Peter slowly turned his gaze up towards me; I couldn't seem to control what I was doing. I was just hovering without direction, without control. I didn't like this one bit.

"Oh – my – god." His thin lips broke into a huge grin in some mixture of perversion and triumph. "You _liked_ that!"

"DID NOT!!" I shouted. Regrettably, the evidence kind of outwitted my lie. I trudged on, even so, "I was thinking about you not being on me! That was my happy thought!" I crossed my arms, realizing that I was in fact up-side-down.

o0o

The rest of that day was spent thinking. I left the lagoon in bad humor; I walked through the gardens around the tree house; I watched the little lost children playing, realizing how lucky there were: they would never face this kind of confusion. I wandered around the mouth of the river, and without anywhere else left to go, I hid up in my room.

That night when I went down for dinner, I had dressed as plainly as I could: no jewelry, no pretty dress. Just a simple white shirt and a skirt I'd received for my birthday. I wanted no attention brought to me. Not from Peter, not from anyone.

It was a silent affair, dinner: everything seemed to be going in slow motion. I watched as everyone around me ate and laughed and shouted…all except for Peter. Peter, in his elegant red coat and oversized black pirate hat. Peter, whose bright eyes had become bland; he looked at me for a second, then he seemed to fade into the same speed as everyone else, and I was left alone. Abandoned in my slowed perception of time.

Night came upon me, and I went about the usual business of showering and brushing my hair, and eventually falling asleep. When I awoke in the morning, I climbed up to the tallest branch I could reach and stared out at the rising sun. In the far corner of the sky, I could see one of the two Nevermoons, pale and translucent in that way a morning moon always is.

After a while, I stood, and mustering up my courage, I made myself think of Peter…in that way. That way I _really_ didn't enjoy, and I jumped.

I didn't fly.

This time, when I woke up, it wasn't to my own wall hangings. I didn't hear the chuckle of birds that was familiar to me. And when I moved ever so slightly (the pain was just too much to allow for normal movement), it felt as though the whole room was moving: swinging.

I opened my eyes wider, and I got a clearer vision of the cloth that hung above my head: green. Green and yellow. I tried in vain to prop myself up on my elbows, but fell back in pain, an almost animal groan escaping my bloodied mouth. As I'd fallen, I'd seen a sparkle of gold beside me on a low, wooden table: unclaimed bangles.

I lay still; flat on my back and helpless on this pile of furs and pillows and mats. On this bed that wasn't mine. I closed my eyes and sighed in defeated frustration. I let sleep overcome me, but even sleep could not outrun my aggravation.

o0o

I woke up again, and this time, I wasn't alone. Peter was sitting at the table, looking at something…. "Oh god." He turned around, that rare, serious expression settled upon his face. He rushed down onto his knees beside me and placed an open palm on my cheek.

I tried to turn my head the other way, but only succeeded in rubbing my cheek against his hand; his hands seemed bigger somehow. Then, I realized that my shirt and pants I'd worn to bed the night before were still on – and stuck, at that. "Oh come on." I whispered.

"What?" his voice was laced with something fragile.

"Don't tell me," I had to pause for breath, "That my shirt is stuck to my back."

He didn't smile. "Alright, I won't tell you."

I took a deep breath, partly out of frustration, partly out of the need for oxygen. "Why didn't you cut it off me while I was unconscious?" I stopped. "I'm amazed you didn't take your first chance at getting me out of my clothes."

He took his hand away, almost forcefully. "I wouldn't do that to you." I'd never seen him keep a face so solemn for so long. "But, if you want me to, I will."

"Yes."

"It's going to hurt."

"I don't care. Just heal these scars, please." I felt ashamed for begging.

He grabbed some shears from a drawer, then said, "I don't want to hurt you."

"_Peter_." I commanded.

Words cannot fully describe what pain I felt: after he cut the loose material from my body, he had to shift me onto my stomach. That in itself was painful. I let my head flop lifelessly onto a nearby pillow: it was fat, and reeked of Peter. Then, he warned me, and oh, do I wish I'd listened. I don't think I've ever screamed – or will scream – like that ever. The pain seared across my back and echoed deep into my ribcage: every bone in my body twitched with hurt; every muscle spasmed in agony when I felt the cloth being ripped from my skin. It left a scar that took six years to heal – a lasting reminder to always think of what _truly _makes me happy.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked; although I couldn't see his face, I could hear his expressions. He was sickened.

"There's more?" I whined.

"Unfortunately. " He paused, placing a hand on my bare shoulder. "I can't leave it open. I have to clean it and wrap it up. If I don't…believe me, you don't want that."

"Fine." I gritted my teeth as his fingers brushed the open wound lightly. I let little screeches slip whenever some particularly painful spot was touched. He winced and grimaced in all the right places: when blood would trickle down my skin; whenever his nails would skim over a swollen bruise or scratched-up piece of skin.

"I'm sorry."

I whimpered.

"I never meant for you to get this injured."

I caught my breath enough to whisper, "Just a little bit, right?"

He chortled. "Yeah." I could hear the smile on his face and imagine the look of sarcasm.

When he was done examining the wounds on my back, it was time to clean them. He poured cold water into them, and it hurt almost as bad as it did when he touched them. The stinging seemed never to end. Every time I would alert him to the presence of my pain, he would apologize: soft, gentle coos and 'sorry's and feather-light touches to my hair.

"Almost done, I promise." He said. Just then, I heard a ripping sound. Then, I felt a soft, worn piece of cloth cover the scar on my back; it was warm. "Can you get on your hands and knees?" he asked.

"I think so." I tried, but it took several attempts until I finally got into that position. I came to realize that Peter had torn up one of his own shirts in order to use it as a bandage. He then took from a very old and rusty tackle box a hardly-used roll of…was that _medical tape_? He unrolled some of it, and began wrapping it around my torso from my rib cage down to my waist. When he had to detach it from the roll, it wouldn't rip: he bent forward under my hips and tore it with his teeth. When he realized that my blush wasn't entirely from exhaustion, he apologized.

When I was told I could lay down, I flopped down painfully onto Peter's makeshift bed…much more comfortable than my own. I buried my face in the fluffy pillows, trying to escape the pain. I felt the furs and blankets shift as Peter made himself comfortable next to me.

"How am I supposed to get to my room?"

He didn't speak for a moment. Then, "Stay, won't you?"

I pretended not to be anxious about this prospect. "Do I have a choice?"

He thought about it for a moment. Then, slipping his hand into mine, he murmured into my hair, "No." It wasn't his usual sinister refusal, nor was it forceful in any way. It was melodious, comforting.

I let my body go limp on the bed, and said, "Ok." I squeezed his hand as best I could. So that's how I fell asleep: on pins and next to Peter Pan.


	6. Chapter Five: Brain Stew

Five: James

As is to be expected, nothing came of that night: I was too wounded to think a single romantic thought. Peter respected that. It was strange however, that in the morning to follow – and the days to come as well – he made nothing of holding my hand. The boy who thrived on sex and touches made no connection with holding my hand.

"I don't understand." I said to Tinkerbell one day; Peter had left her to tend to me.

"I can't honestly say that I understand either, Rose. All I know is that for all of his sexuality, Peter knows almost nothing of love."

"But Tequila and Brandi and Martini," I protested in my defense of Peter, "They all told me that he is the most romantic lover any of them have ever known."

Tinkerbell pushed her tiny face up at me and said, "Romance _does not_ constitute love." She went back to her repair of some little needle.

Trying to change the subject, I asked, "Tink, what's that?" I pointed to the needle.

"Oh, it's something of Peter's. His inking needle."

"He writes?"

"Well," she smiled, "That too. But this isn't for writing." She was sharpening it to a very fine point…fine even for a fairy.

I waited patiently, but after a minute, she remained silent still. "So what is it for?"

"Inking."

"What's inking?"

"You should know," she sounded stern – a hard feat to accomplish, considering her voice mimicked the chiming of bells. "You humans do it all the time, though I suspect you haven't. You're too young, I think."

I pondered this for a moment, flicking through my metal catalogue of all the things people used ink for: writing, drawing, painting, etching, mapping… … …_tattoos!_ "Wait," I said, apprehension colored my voice, "Peter has _tattoos_?"

Tinkerbell smiled. "You bet."

"I've never seen them!"

Tinkerbell's smile turned into a sly simper; "They're not in places that even _Peter_ generally displays to the public." She returned to sharpening it.

Brushing away the thoughts of what those places would probably be, I said, "Is he getting a new one?"

She nodded.

"What of?"

"That's his secret. He won't tell even me." There was a pause. "Wait, there is one that almost everyone has seen…I thought you would've seen it last night when he took his shirt off."

"Ripped off." I corrected for no particular reason.

"Whatever."

"I guess I was in too much pain to notice." My vision had been blurry. "What is it of?"

"It's a red heart. It's on the left side of his chest." Even clever miss Tinkerbell couldn't keep her blush at bay. "He did it the wrong way though; it was his first tattoo. He carved it into his skin with a sewing needle and his own blood." I blanched. "So, instead of resembling the rest of his tattoos, that one is still bumpy and slightly misshapen."

I didn't want to imagine that.

o0o

The days continued in that fashion for a while: I would spend my days and nights in Peter's room, sleeping well in the night, talking with Tinkerbell or the occasional lost girl or boy during the day. Peter didn't speak with me much. Whenever I asked him what he was up to, he just said, "Adventures." He never allowed me to push the subject.

Eventually – and much to my joy – I returned to my room. The scar still hurt if I moved exactly the wrong way, but it was bearable.

Six weeks later, I was fully healed (save for the visible presence of my scar) and was in for a whole new living arrangement. Peter – as usual – had taken it upon himself to put me in his presence more often than not. Whether it was out of a genuine desire to be near me, or just a way of satisfying his guilt, I was never quite sure.

One of the ways Peter forced me into his day was through fencing: he upped the ante on how many times I was to practice swordplay with him. It was through these taxing fight sessions that I was taught the true meaning of humility. Peter was an amazing swordsman, and with his golden sword, he almost never lost. I was left many a time at the mercy of that shining blade, and I couldn't help but wonder how many had died upon it. Everyone encouraged his idea: I'm great at dueling – just not as good as Peter. He was quicker in wit, quicker in reflexes, and quicker in flight.

By this time, I had gained a reasonable amount of control over flying, but of course, Peter always outshined me.

Another way of inserting me into his agenda was by taking me on long flights around Neverland, showing me every possible edifice, precipice, and shining surface of Neverland. Often, we could be found hidden in the library, and Peter would be showing me maps of Neverland. He was constantly showing me something new that he'd discovered in his many years.

"Peter," I asked one day, "Where did you come from?"

He pondered this for a moment, one of those long fingers on his chin. "Neverland, I suppose." He returned to a book, but I wouldn't give up.

"You mean you don't know where you were born, or who your mother was?"

"Like I said, I'm assuming I'm from Neverland. Moreover Rose," He stared at me as though I'd just asked something incredibly impertinent, "I have no mother."

This statement was disturbingly true.

Just then, his green eyes shifted from happily verdent to cynical, worried-jade. "What's that?" he pointed at my chest; I glanced down, wary of any possible tricks. My skeleton key with the heart-shaped head had escaped the confines of my shirt and was now resting innocently on my collarbone.

"This?" I asked, holding it to the light; I hadn't given any real thought to it in a while. The words, _Buried Treasure_ gleamed in the sunlight.

"Yes," his voice became urgent. "That."

"It's the birthday present Grandmother Wendy gave to me when I turned sixteen."

His expression suddenly softened. "Oh. It's…nice." He seemed to grimace and mutter something under his breath.

o0o

Time went on as it always does, but of course being that I lived in Neverland, time meant nothing to me. But with time, comes adventure, whether you want it or not. Peter always wanted it, but I never expected that my training in the sword be for any real use. However, those next few months became known in Neverhistory as the Inception of Hook.

It was on a rainy summer night that Peter left for his adventure. He'd been planning it for several months. He'd announced it to the lost boys and girls at dinner the night before, and all had been shocked…except for me. I'd been the first person he told.

The night that he left, he gave me a chance to redeem myself: he offered me a bangle. Still, I turned it down.

"Not even to remember me by?" his voice and face were cheerful, but somehow, he seemed disappointed.

"I'm sorry Peter, but I can't take it." I secretly wanted to whisk it onto my wrist and hug him. I was afraid because he'd told me he was going to Pirate Cove. I'd never been there, but both Peter and the lost boys told me that it was a dangerous place.

"Well, then at least hold onto this for me." He tore a piece of his sleeve off and tied it around my wrist. Immediately, the cloth shrank so that I couldn't take it off. I shook my head at him. "I promise that you'll be able to take it off someday."

We hugged, and he left. I watched as he flew into the dark sky, the thunderclouds obscuring him from my eyes.

Days passed. A week. Two weeks. A month. I'd taken to sleeping in his room in his absence, and with every day that passed, my worry grew. What would happen if Peter died while he was on his adventure? What then? It was tempting to try and go back to London, now that I could fly, but something kept me from leaving.

I took up Peter's place at the dinner table. I became a surrogate leader while Peter was away. And I worried about him. I'd never before believed in God, not even as a child. But now, with Peter gone away, I prayed every night before I went to bed for him to come home unharmed.

He never did.

At last the day dawned where I decided I would go looking for Peter. Everyone insisted I stay, but I persisted the idea until no one could protest. Tink maintained that she would go with me, but I didn't mind: she was small and could possibly aid me in finding Peter. We left during the night, heading southwest. What I discovered blew me away.

The village of Pirate Cove, _Pirata Portus Castellum_ was the only town in all of Neverland. It was full of pirates, pirate wannabe's, gypsies, whores, and thieves. Not to mention a variety of both animal and human rats.

When we arrived, I was lucky enough to be wearing the outfit Peter had given me that night so long ago, as well as his red coat. I'd put the hat on, but only after I'd tied a red bandanna on under it. This was as clever a disguise as I could gather. I walked up to a saloon that Tinkerbell had suggested – it looked the safest – and sat at a corner table, observing my surroundings. I must have sat there for hours, watching and listening before I heard even a hint about Peter.

"I heard Captain James finally captured that nasty bloke, Pan!" My ears perked.

"Thank god for that, aye? Maybe now our wives'll stay in _our_ beds!" I tried to disregard that statement.

"All I know is that brat, kid-pirate James has Pan a prisoner on his ship."

"What's it called again?" Here, I tuned out all else.

"Marauder's Virtue, Marauder's Virtue!" Screamed a parrot.

After that, I abruptly left.

I came to the edge of the cove and from there I could see a dot on the horizon: _that must be the ship_!

I took off as discreetly as I could in the direction of that ship. When Tink and I reached it, I diverted our course. "What are you doing, Rose?" she sounded frantic.

"You don't honestly think that those pirates will just let us onto their ship, take Peter and leave, do you?"

"Well, no…" she sounded miffed now.

I slowly crept along the side of the ship, peering in the captain's window: there was Peter, moping and chained to a chair, a gag in his mouth. I made sure that no one else was in there before I opened the window and let myself in. Peter looked ecstatic to see me. "Shhh!" I said, "We've come to rescue you!" I took the gag from his mouth.

"How did you know where to look for me?"

"A little bird told me." I could hear Tink laughing at that. "Come on, we have to get you out of here!" I yanked the chains off of him and we headed for the window, but just as we were going to leave, Peter turned around.

"My sword!" he yelped.

"Peter, no!"

"I'm not leaving without my sword!" he said, and just as he picked it up from the floor, the door opened. A very handsome youth strode into the room: he had beautiful straight black hair that hung about his shoulders; his build was thin and his face was effeminate. He looked to be about sixteen years old.

"Peter! Going so soon? We haven't even had a proper chat yet!" he smiled and I had to resist the urge to swoon.

"Come off it, James. You'll never catch me."

"My dear boy," James said, pointing a pistol at Peter, "I already have." He pulled the trigger and then several things happened at once: I screamed, Tink fell out the window, and Peter propelled himself at James. The two boys fell to the ground in a heap, tumbling around, Peter trying desperately to yank the gun out of James's hand, James calling in a hoarse voice for his crewmates to come and help.

The fight took a tumble via the stairs onto the deck below. I followed it out – a very foolish thing to do when one is a lady, and surrounded by male pirates. Peter flew up into the rafters of the ship and James ordered for his crew – most of who were much older than himself – to fire at will. After everyone had exhausted their ammunition, they all gave up on him, and the entire ship's attention turned to me: the only female. How wretched.

"Bring her to me."

Three men came at me faster than I could fly and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged down to face the boy-pirate.

"You're a pretty thing. And where did Peter find you?" he put out a hand to touch me, but I struck first: I bit his finger hard. "Pretty _and_ vicious!" The look in James's brown eyes tore me apart.

"Don't touch me, you snake!" I screeched.

"Mademoiselle, I believe you are on _my_ ship; I will do as I please." He searched me once more before saying, much to my horror, "Boys, you can have her." I screamed as the men came at me, catcalls fresh in the air, whistles flying, teeth glinting.

Then, everything stopped: a sudden ripping sound cut through the air. Everyone looked up towards the noise, and there was a golden sword point cutting through one of the sails. A bodiless voice that I recognized as Peter's wafted through the air. "If any of you rotten, mangy seadogs lays even a finger to her, I'll cut ya' up and feed ya' to the Croc!"

A scrap of the maimed sail fell. Someone held it up: it was in the shape of Peter's body, and there, up where the sail had been cut, sure enough was Peter, hands on his hips, sword by his side.

"Come down here Pan, you coward!" James shouted.

Peter floated languidly down and stepped lightly onto the boards of the ship. "It's Peter. _Just_ Peter."

"Fine, _just_ Peter. I'll duel you. For the girl." James nodded to me. "If I win, I get to keep her as my cabin-girl." I wanted to puke.

"And if _I_ win?" Peter inquired.

"But you won't."

"But just in case I _do_?" Peter smiled and James returned the gesture.

"You can take her back to your rat's nest in the trees and do what you will with her."

"Sounds good. Shall we?" Peter extended his right hand.

"We shall." James took it, shook it, and turned his back to Peter. The two boys walked to opposite ends of the deck, turned to face each other, and bowed. The next few minutes was a confusing mess of swords clashing and curses flying (not to mention _Peter_ flying) and jeers from the surrounding crew. Also, I was recaptured by two grizzly men. It was awful.

I cheered for Peter, and booed when James shouted, "Come down from your perch, Peter and fight like a man!"

Peter put a hand to his nose and wiggled his fingers.

"Bad form!" Shouted James.

"_Bad form_!" shouted the crew in unison.

Peter began his leisurely decent, pretending to be walking down a set of stairs. "But Jamesey, you must remember," he took a stab at the pirate captain, "I can't fight like a man!" Another stab, this time just barely missing James's head.

"And why the bloody hell not?" James stabbed at Peter, who expertly parried the attack.

"Because," Peter said, evading another blow. "I'm not a man! I'm a boy! And today is the day everyone will remember that you were defeated by a boy in tights!" Peter shouted with glee as he took a mighty swing and chopped James's left hand clean off at the wrist.

The men holding me let go straight away, and I felt sick at the sight of all that blood. James was reeling with his bloody wrist pressed against his chest; he watched Peter take the severed hand and throw it out to sea where I saw a flash of green, scaly hide, and then there was nothing.

"Never grow up!" Peter shouted in triumph.

"You fools, get him!" James shouted, still clutching his stubbed wrist and the crew all rushed at Peter. Peter took off and grabbed my hand. We ran to the bow of the ship and jumped into the air, guns reloaded and firing at us. I screamed when Peter stopped for a moment and crowed victoriously, basking in his glory.

"See ya' later, alligator!" He called before crowing a second time.

"Peter, let's go!"

"Or should I say, Crocodile?" he laughed, and I screamed some more while he crowed for a third and final time. Finally, he left with me and we returned home, only to find Tink worried sick. That night, Peter told everyone about how he'd come to find the Pirate ship and how he'd been captured; how Tink and I had _almost_ saved him, and how he heroically battled with James to save _my_ life. I let him tell his tall tail, because I was just thankful that we were both alive. It was probably one of the most embarrassing things I would ever endure in my whole life.

* * *

A/n: Thank you so much to the reviewers! The more reviews I find, the more I want to continue the story. Right now, I see a bright future for Peter and his gang in terms of story completion, so keep the comments coming.

xo, annie.


	7. Chapter Six: Who Will?

Six: Pan's (Not-So-)Secret

If I had thought that escaping from Captain James's pirate ship, the _Marauder's Virtue_, was the end of my adventure with Peter, I was very, very mistaken. In as little as a week, Peter expressed the desire to go back.

"But Peter, _why_?" I asked, desperate in my need for him to stay well out of the way of that awful pirate.

"Because," Peter said as if it were simply a matter of what the weather was going to be doing that afternoon, "I'm going to kill him."

"_Peter_!" I was shocked – don't know why, really. I should have been used to this kind of behavior by now; for Peter, it was at the heights of audacity that he was at his best.

"What? He's a pirate." Peter sipped his morning hot chocolate (he never drank coffee. "Grown-ups drink coffee.")

"Oh, so that means you have to murder him?" I shook my head in disbelief.

Peter took another sip before saying "Yes." And all without a lick of guilt.

o0o

I said that I would go with Peter, and that he couldn't stop me no matter what he tried, and that even if he left without me, I would follow him and…

"Alright already! I wasn't about to try and stop you! Jesus, woman." I couldn't help but smile: I liked to see him flustered like that.

We left the tree house – without Tinkerbell this time, whom we left in charge – and in fine disguise at that: Peter had dyed his hair with magical Neverdye (Neverdie? haha, sorry) so that it was deep, dark black. It was unnerving to see him look like that. To boot, he'd bought cinnamon powder from some witch-woman down the river. He wouldn't speak too much about that. He'd used the cinnamon powder to dust himself with faux freckles. To top it all off, he was dressed in one of his more interesting get-ups.

As for me, I was still a relatively obscure Neverlander, but all the same, Peter made me dress up: he'd braided my hair the night before into a precarious fashion and used my bandanna again to wrap around my head so that the braids tumbled down over it. Dressed like the wenchiest wench you ever did see, I was made up to be a gypsy.

When we arrived in Pirata Portus, Peter devised that we should get a room in one of the inns and lay back for a while before going after James. I agreed, if only because I had _no idea_ what we were doing, or how we were going to do it. I wasn't exactly an experienced pirate slayer…let's face it, I wasn't even your _average everyday_ pirate slayer. But Peter seemed to know what he was up to – as usual – so I trusted him.

"Now, just remember," he placed a hand on my shoulder before we went into the inn he'd chosen, "You're a gypsy; a medicine woman from the south. You talk with an accent, _like dis_." He said. I imitated the accent, and then we went in. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Peter's façade went up: his walk became more of a swaggering stroll – not in a drunk sort of way. More like a suave kind of strut. We walked up to the counter where the innkeeper greeted us.

He was a very beefy man, with a beard so tangled and overgrown that the only part of his face I could see were his beady blue eyes. "And what can I do you for, Lady and her Gent?"

Peter stepped forward before I could answer, and in his best drawling, debonair voice, he answered, "Me and the lady are lookin' fer a place ter stay. Nothin' too…costly, mind." He winked.

I stepped forward, and Peter – _bless his heart_ – looked nervously from me to the counter. "And sometin' wit a nice view, if ya' please, sar." The beads in my hair jingled as I tossed my hair back. I chuckled a bit as I listened to Peter exhaling in relief.

Peter and I got in the room, and as soon as it sounded like the innkeeper was out of earshot, Peter whooped with glee. "That was very, very good Rose. You were brilliant!"

"Well," I said, taking off the hat and bandanna, "It all just seems like one big game of pretend." I smiled, but the smile dipped for a second as Peter put a hand low on my back.

"That's all it is, baby: a game of pretend." That moment of discomfort lasted only a second or two, and then his hand left me, and all was well again.

It was an awkward night because there was only one bed, and although to be honest, Peter _did_ offer to sleep on the floor, I insisted that he not. "It's bad for your back, you know, and if you're going to live forever, you might as well take care of yourself."

"Don't go getting all like Tink on me." He smiled, and sat on the bed. "But if you insist, m'lady."

"And I do."

"Alright. I'm going to shower and take this absurd dye out of my hair and get back to looking my handsome self." He walked into the washroom beside our bedroom, leaving the door ajar. "To keep the steam low," he explained.

_Sure_, I thought.

That night, as Peter slept undisturbed beside me, I suffered a nasty bout of insomnia; I envied Peter as he slept there, oblivious to how awake I was. I wished he were awake too so that we could talk. I wanted badly to talk to him, but I couldn't wake him in good conscience.

_I wonder_… I reached a single finger out, and touched him. It was almost like listening to his thoughts, all jumbled up and chaotic, even within the peaceful confines of sleep. It was a very strange feeling. If this was the result of just one finger…

I placed my open palm on his chest: it must have been a fading illusion though, because I heard nothing. I could feel the spot where his skin was cut and maimed: the tattoo..he _was_ warm, and that was nice because _I_ was freezing! "Peter?" I whispered. "Peeee-t-eerrr!" I said, a little louder. He barely even twitched. Seeing that he probably wouldn't wake up, I snuggled close next to him, taking his arm and wrapping it around myself…for warmth, and warmth alone. I let my foot slide over his leg, appreciating the soft material of his pajama pants. And for a very short, short moment in time, I wished that I had taken the golden bracelet. _Bracelet_, I thought, touching the piece of cloth that Peter had tied around my wrist. About how I couldn't seem to tug it off…

Peter shuddered. A moan escaped his lips. _Oh god_, I thought. But then he stilled. However, his breath was hot on my neck, and it wasn't doing good things. Not good at all. _He'll never know_, I thought as I leaned into him, allowing my head to rest between his jaw and his shoulder. And for a while, it worked. Then, about two hours later – and with still no sleep achieved on my part – his entire body hummed. I had moved again, and I could feel his smile. A noise that I couldn't quite identify thrummed in my ears from above my head. Peter shifted in his sleep, and I gasped a little because one of his legs wrapped around mine. _It can't get any worse_, I thought. I was wrong; I leaned back a little, trying to get comfortable, and then, _Oh my god, you _must_ be joking! _But of course not: I'd trapped myself next to Peter, who was having a very good dream from the feel of things. "Why me?" I asked into the dark.

o0o

The next day, we got back into costume – it took Peter an hour because the dye had to take effect, and then he had to dust himself up again – and left to see what news we could of Captain James. Peter – who still had no idea of what had happened in his sleep – wanted for us to stick together, but out of both the need to be away from him and my penchant for multi-tasking, I suggested that he go look on one side of the port, while I looked on the other.

"You'd better stay on the eastern side; whatever happens, _don't_ come looking for me." This time, he got his face close to mine, perhaps to illustrate his seriousness. "Never, _ever_ go to the west side of the port. _Ever_."

I nodded, but never promised him a thing.

"Alright. I'll meet you back at the inn at dusk."

"Sounds good."

"Alright, bye." We went in separate directions. I turned around at one point, and seeing that Peter was still within earshot, I adopted my accent and shouted after him, "Be carfell noo-w, you 'ear?"

He turned to face me, a grin plastered upon his face and said with his own brand of inflection, "But of course, m'lady!"

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I should have listened to him.

I went about my business, buying food for us at the port's market – all the while, listening in on the conversations around me, snooping for even the slightest little _inkling_ about James. I heard little tidbits, but nothing of any _real_ importance until…

"Did ya' hear? Captain James, the kid-pirate? He went and got his hand chopped off by that Pan!"

Oh, well I already knew that.

"Yes, yes…they say his ship's been missin' from port now ever since. Heard he was humiliated by Pan."

I was laughing on the inside.

"I heard he's left Neverland! I heard he went to get some special hook to replace his hand."

Interesting. The part about him leaving Neverland. Peter would want to know all about that…

I figured I had about as much information as I was going to get, so I went back to the inn and I waited.

I waited for over seven hours.

I was getting very, very worried, because night had fallen, and Peter still wasn't back. I weighed the odds, thinking about which was worse: Peter being mad at me for coming after him after he told me not to, or not going at all and then having to try and sleep knowing that Peter was gone or captured or killed or…no. It just wouldn't do. Peter's hot temper was something I could heal from. Peter's being dead? I don't think so.

I put on the cloak Peter had brought with him and left the inn, making my way quickly through the abandoned streets. I knew I'd reached the part of the port that Peter never wanted me to touch when there were no more street lamps: everything was as dark as night itself. Not even were there lights from the windows.

I started becoming afraid, in that way one does when one is all alone in the dark at night. Besides, knowing that I was in the part of the port where even Peter seemed scared to go made me feel like something bad was about to happen any moment.

I had passed a group of boys who were whispering and when they saw me, they started to follow me. I was getting more and more nervous with every minute the followed me. I could hear them whispering to each other about me. I wanted to tell them off, but didn't have the nerve. Then, Peter's words came back to me: _it's all just a game of pretend_. I imagined myself to be a fierce pirate woman, and so with my dagger in hand and hope in my imagination, I turned on the group of boys.

"Take one more step towards me, you blundering, mangy, flea-bitten curs, and I'll cut yar throats out – every single one of ya' – and hang 'em out wit my flag so all can see."

This had a pretty good effect on all but one. He smiled and said, "I know who _you_ are, Rose."

I took a step back, quirking my eyebrow. "I don't know who ya're talkin' about!" I growled.

Then, things got fishier. "I don't know about this, Dré!" someone said. "I don't think it's her!"

The leader – Dré – spoke to the fellow behind him. "Shut up, Mikey, no one asked _you_."

Of course, now the trick was falling apart: "I TOLD YOU NOT TO TRY AND FIND ME!!!" Peter's voice echoed in the empty streets behind me. I turned around, scared now that I had angered him. To imagine Peter being angry is one thing; to see it is a whole new ball game. I suddenly wished I'd done as I was told.

Before I could protest, the boys behind me all shouted mingled things, like, "It was all Dré's idea!" and "We were just worried 'bout you, Peter."

Peter hadn't even noticed the gang of boys before, for he had been shouting at me, but now he was accutely aware of them. He walked over to the group and ripped their cloaks off. "Well, well, well. Look at this: my original lost boys came after me." He said, turning to me, the sparks of anger still present in his eyes. "Looks like you gave Princess Rose here quite a scare."

"Sorry, Peter." Said the boy named Mikey.

"We didn't mean any harm." Spoke one of the others – a blonde boy who I later learned was one of the twins, Marc or Aiden.

"You've caused none." Said Peter. "Now, go back home, every single one of you: Mikey, Marc, Aiden." He turned to face the others, "Jack and Dré, you too." Dré shot Peter an unhappy look before doing as he was told. Peter kept a smile on his face until they were all out of eyesight. Then, he rounded on me. "I told you not to follow me."

"I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough." He grabbed my wrist painfully and dragged me after him.

"I can walk just fine by myself, thank you!"

He stopped, but didn't let go. He looked at me with blazing green eyes. "I know, but this is your punishment. I will bring you along with me like a dog. If I had a leash, believe me, you'd be on it." I could see the red of his hair firing up in the roots; his anger was defying the dye. The cinnamon powder seemed to be melting, creating angry blotches of color on his face.

I was humiliated, just as Peter wanted me to be.

When we reached the inn, I'd hoped he'd let go and just let me follow him up the staircase. But no, he had to cause a scene. We stopped just outside the door of the noisy ground floor, and without letting go of my wrist, he said, "Now, you're going to let me carry you through that bar and up those stairs and you're not getting down until I say so." His voice was ragged and rank with rage. I could feel the heat radiating off his blotched skin.

"_Peter_!"

"I don't care. You're getting what you deserve! You could have been killed, or raped! Thank god that it was the boys who found you and not some…some gaggle of pirate outcasts or something!" I tried to run away from him, but he pulled harder and yanked me toward him so that I was pressed up against him. "You're not going anywhere on _those_ two feet. Come here!" I wanted to scream, but somehow, that didn't seem very smart. He picked me up in the same fashion as when he used to fly me places, except this time, it was much more embarrassing; I knew what he wanted it to look like. He wanted it to look like I was his…I just couldn't bare the thought of it!

He swaggered into the bar with me in his arms, and all the men stopped talking for a moment before cheering and catcalling and whistling.

I faked a smile and tried not to make it look like I was wincing as Peter shouted, "It's going to be a good night tonight, fellas!" In that moment, I hated Peter. In that moment, I wanted nothing less than to feed him to the sharks…or better yet, that crocodile.

When we were back in the room, he dropped the act and tossed me harshly onto the bed while he went into the bathroom and took the dye out his hair; washed his face. I didn't know what to do, so I just buried my face in the pillow and cried. He returned to the bedroom and just looked down at me. I knew my makeup was running down my face and onto the pillow. Peter glared at me.

"You shouldn't have followed me. That was a very _stupid_ thing to do."

"You were late. I was…worried." I sniffed.

Peter didn't answer.

"Peter, why were you so late?"

"I was getting something. I was bartering." He looked away from me and his voice softened. "I was buying something for you."

I cried more at this. "I can't believe you did that to me down there!"

He turned his head sharply at me. "I suppose you want me to leave you alone?" His voice was callous again.

I nodded my head, expecting him to have at least some sympathy. But it was Peter, so of course, there was _none_.

"Well, too bad for you, my dear, because I'm staying in for the night, and you're staying with me. From now on, as long as we are in the port, you will go _nowhere_ without me."

I sobbed. I pleaded. But it got me nowhere, fast. Peter stripped down and got into his green pajama pants. He wouldn't let me into the bathroom to change, so I just got into my own nightclothes right there in front of him. It was one of Peter's worse punishments. When I turned my back to him so that he wouldn't see anything I didn't want him to, he reached his hand out and ran an open palm down my back and over my butt, down to my knee, sucking in his breath.

I turned around and glowered furiously at him. "_Don't_." He seemed unfazed by my anger.

"Be happy it's _me_ and not some sea rat." He drew his knees up to his chest and sat still the rest of the time it took for me to get dressed. I made to get into bed, but Peter intervened. "Sit on the floor between my legs."

I couldn't believe it! But for fear of some worse penalty, I did so, facing him.

"Turn around, you foolish girl. I'm not _that_ cruel."

I turned around. I felt him start to tug at one of my braids. He was undoing all of them, but he could have been more gentle. "Why are you pulling my hair like that?" It hurt badly, and it was knotting. It would take forever to brush it out again, and the process was going to be extremely painful.

"_Because_," he said with an extra hard pull – I whined – "I'm already out of costume, so I'm sending _you_ downstairs for something to drink. Everyone thinks we've just had sex, and you're going to look the part." He pulled the last of my braids out, and sent me on my way with a hard push to the back.

That night, after he decided it was time to go to sleep, Peter made a confession. He pulled me close to him under the covers and snaked his arm around me so that I couldn't get away. I squirmed and I pulled, but he never let me go. "Stop your wiggling." He growled in my ear. He didn't smell like his usual self – he smelled like whiskey.

"Then let go of me, Peter! I don't want to be next to you like this!"

He held me tighter and to my utmost horror, he said "You didn't seem to have a problem with it last night." And with that, he fell asleep, leaving me to silent tears.

o0o

One day. Two, and the three days passed until I spoke to Peter again. He was undaunted by this, and eventually, realizing that as cruel and as awful as his ways may be…he still did it out of caring. He'd never thought about how to handle someone who broke rules that he'd made. Making me feel so horrible was his way of ensuring that I wouldn't do it again.

The trouble was, I _always_ did it again.

When finally I decided I was ready to face Peter, I told him all about what I'd heard.

"Well," he said, "That's good to know, because I found out yesterday that James has returned. You and I are going to find him."

"When, Peter?"

Peter smiled in that maniacal way he had. "Today."

We flew over Pirate's cove until we hit open water. It was here that Peter began to grow nervous. When I asked what was wrong, he just said that he didn't like being over the open ocean. Said it reminded him too much of death. I couldn't quite fathom that one.

When we caught sight of the ship, Peter stopped and hovered. His plan was to wait in the rafters for a bit while James went about his business, and then, when the time was ripe, Peter would strike.

"But Peter, why can't _I_ attack him?"

"Because, that is the Rule. Only _I_ can fight James…Hook. Only I. But…if things don't go…_according to plan_, then you can have him. Should I be unable to fight Hook, it will be up to you."

"Peter, you won't die!"

"Even if I do, don't fret. After all, Death would certainly be a very big adventure."

Even after all that he'd done to me, I still couldn't bare the idea of losing Peter. He was my friend. He had taken care of me. And he'd shown me how to fly.

We soared quietly downward and touched down on the tallest mast we could find. Hidden in the sails, we waited.

It was a good many hours before Peter instructed me to go down to the deck with him. It was raining now, and thunder had begun to crash. Peter didn't want to risk being up this high when there could be lightening. I asked him yet again what it was he wanted me to do.

"Just…just be my witness while I take care of Hook."

I lightly put my hand on his. "Please, Peter…be careful."

"I'll try." With that, we dropped down to the ship below. It took several minutes for the pirates to realize what was going on, and by that time, I'd killed my first man – not to mention my second, third, and fourth. But of course, Peter was way ahead of me.

Once the crew figured who was on the ship, they backed away: it appeared that Peter's rule for his lost boys and girls had its own reflexive respect on Hook's crew. Only Peter and Hook; Hook and Pan – were aloud to fight one another. As for me, I knew my limits. I couldn't take them all on at once, and they didn't want to risk hurt to me for fear of Peter. Funny, how when his back was turned, they mocked him; belittled him. But when it came time to either put up or shut up, they always shut up.

I found a place to sit on a barrel, and watched the fight that would change my relationship with Peter forever.

It seemed so evenly matched: the two youths of the century clashing swords, competing in wit. But Peter seemed to be gaining momentum on Hook. It was so creepy – seeing that silver hook glowing in the stormy surroundings. Every time the lightening would flash, it would glimmer with a sinister glow. Hook's personality glowed just as cynically. It was tempting and disgusting all at once.

Then, just when Peter seemed to have won the fight, Hook pulled one of his underhanded cards from inside of his sleeve: I screamed as he placed me between Peter and himself.

"I'll let the girl go, Pan, if you let me kill you." Peter's eyes glimmered with something unearthly: something I couldn't recognize.

"Don't hurt her." Peter's voice was flat but urgent. "Please."

I could feel a bead of sweat mingle with the rain on my cheeks as the sharp point of a dagger dug into my throat. The cold metal was practically scalding me with fear. "I won't have to, if you let me kill you."

Peter looked confused; I felt scared. Hook's heart was pounding just behind my head. "Come on Peter, you don't have much time!" said Hook, a smile of the like I'd never seen marring his otherwise becoming face. I screamed as the point of the knife punctured my skin. I was horrified; there was my own blood sliding down my skin, staining my shirt.

"Stop!" Peter shouted, jumping toward me, but Hook stepped back.

"Ah, ah, ah Pan, you have to make a fair exchange. Your life for hers." There was another cut made to my neck, and it just hurt so bad. My fear had melted into dizziness – Peter looked like his inner pain was worse than my own physical ache.

Peter stepped back a few paces, wringing his hands.

"Oh, I knew you wouldn't risk your life for this wench. Because you can replace her, can't you Peter? Of course you can." Hook pulled me closer – that heartbeat was infectious.

Peter turned away, and I felt so betrayed in that moment because I could feel the dagger ripping my skin. _Why, Peter?_

Suddenly, Peter dropped his golden sword to the deck with a clatter and turned sharply: it was the hardest punch I'd ever seen anyone throw. Hook's jaw was bleeding and I was released. "Don't _ever_ touch her again, you miserable fuck." Peter's eyes gave off sparks.

Peter grabbed my wrist and tugged me backward, forcing me behind him. He picked his sword up from the ground and stood over the grounded teen before him. He stuck his sword point into Hook's chest.

Despite his endangered position, Hook managed to lift his head and, looking Peter fearlessly in the eyes, he said, "Why, Peter! I do believe you've learned to care. And yet, that makes one wonder…"

"Get to your point, Hook: it will be your last."

"Did she _rescue_ you? Did she repair the damage you yourself have done?"

Peter's grip on his sword slackened. His eyes went from angry to worry to angry again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie, Peter…or, does she not know your secret?"

Peter closed his eyes and muttered something.

"Oh! I see! The great Peter Pan has locked his greatest secret away, his greatest weakness. Oh, it's such a delicious dilemma." Hook pushed Peter's sword away and stood up again, backing away from Peter. "You should tell her, Peter. Tell her your secret."

"Shut up." Peter murmured to the planks at his feet, the rain drenching his hair and soaking his clothes.

"What was that, Peter?" Hook was baiting him, and it was working.

"SHUT UP!!!" Peter shouted to the sky; thunder crashed and lightening flashed overhead. Suddenly, the ocean seemed to give off an earth-shattering pulse: the boat lurched and Peter fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He screamed in agony and I rushed to his side, ignoring the danger I was putting myself in.

Hook strutted to stand above us, smiling at how Peter was bent over double, shaking and angry. "Leave him alone!" I shouted.

"You know what, Peter?" Hook gave him a kick in the side, causing him to wretch. I cried for his pain. "I think the girl has a point. I won't fight you until you expose yourself: better to fight a boy whose honor is intact than a boy who still keeps the truth under lock and key." The next thing I knew, Hook pulled me to my feet by the string of my skeleton key. "Don't lose this, you silly girl. It just might save him." He pushed me back down to Peter. "Both of you get out of here."

Peter stood up at last, his breath ragged; his chest heaved in time with the swell of the sea.

"I'm giving you a week, Pan."

"For – what?"

"To come clean. Not just to your little whore, but to the rest of Neverland as well. Only then, will I fight you."

"A week?"

"Yes, a week."

Peter sank to his knees again, and despite Hook and all his men being right there, he cried, adding to the rain that came down around us like shattered glass…and it was surely as sharp.

* * *

A/n: for the record, I came up with names for the Lost Boys based on their personalities. Forinstance, Mikey's full name is Mica, which means Humble.


	8. Chapter Seven: Why Should I Care?

Seven: Time To Give It All Up

When we returned, Peter locked himself up inside his room and wouldn't come out. On the second day, I ventured up to his room: it was one of the hanging ones, suspended far above the ground by a chain. I knocked lightly on the planks of wood, trying not to make it swing too much.

"Who is it?" he sounded as though he had no soul; it was as if his voice was automated.

"It's Rose." I was looking in the opposite direction, out towards the setting sun: there was a sort of dissolving blush in the water. "Can I come in?"

"Always." He sounded unexpectedly much better. I pushed the curtains aside and entered the tiny room, seeing Peter sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the blank wall. I sat down beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. "I feel…broken."

"Well, what can I do to fix you?" I asked, hoping to elicit a laugh. No such luck. Peter lay down on his side, and I followed him down. I wrapped my arm around him once more, this time committing (in my mind) a crime that had once been unthinkable: I placed a soft, lingering kiss on the back of Peter's neck. He shivered.

"Please don't." he said. He sounded so sad.

"Why not?"

"Because, I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Hide." Peter never ceased to confuse me.

I waited for a moment, analyzing my options before plodding onward. "Peter," I sighed, "What are you hiding? You have six days – not even – to tell the truth. You heard what Hook said." I rubbed his back. "Whatever it is, it can't be _that_ bad."

He shook his head. "It is." For at least ten minutes, there was nothing but the sound of the sea and the wind in the leaves. "I can't forgive myself for this – nor can I ask you this favor. I mean…I was going to, at first. But now that it comes to it…I don't want to."

I let him rant on for a while, never speaking, never looking away, never ignoring him. To cut the rant short, it came down to this:

Peter sat up and pulled off his shirt, exposing his chest in the full light of the room: the scarish tattoo was clearly visible on the left side. He took my wrist, placing my hand flat on his chest over that tattoo. "This is my secret."

"I don't understand." I said in confusion.

"Just be quiet and don't try to feel: listen."

I did as I was told. For several minutes, I felt very stupid, unable to identify the secret. But then, I realized that it wasn't what I _could _feel or what I _could _hear: it was what I _couldn't_. At once, I took my hand away. "Peter, I…I can't feel your heartbeat! What's wrong with you?"

He looked out through the curtains as the wind blew them open momentarily. My mouth went dry as I waited for an answer. "Firstly, you have to understand how much I loved your great grandmother, Wendy. She was my first true love, and when she chose some piece of…earth scum over me…I felt as though my heart would break."

"It sounds horrible." I edged closer to him.

"It's nothing compared to what I did." He sighed and had to wait before telling me the rest. "I…I'm sure you know," he coughed, "That I have a treasure chest, out in the middle of the Far Lake."

I nodded vigorously, anxious for the answer to this riddle.

"Well," he said, "It's not exactly riches in there. It's more valuable than riches…to me, anyway."

"Ok?"

He smiled at me, reaching his hand out towards my chest. I almost pulled away, scared that he was feeling more like himself again. But instead, he ran a finger over the leather cord of my key. He pulled the key up from my shirt and fingered it. "See this? This is the key to my treasure, Rose…Alle."

I blanched at the use of my old name.

"Clearly, Wendy thought you'd be the one to use it." He let the thing slip from between his fingers and sat back on his legs.

"What's in that treasure chest, Peter?"

He waited. He cleared his throat a few times. He closed his eyes, unwilling to see my first reaction. "My heart."

"What?" I admittedly didn't understand.

"Literally. When Wendy hurt me so devastatingly, I cut my heart out and locked it away, saving it for whichever descendant of Wendy who could both accept my love _and_ have the nerve to open that chest. Whichever girl could be brave enough to give me my heart back." He looked away from me. "I know, you probably want nothing to do with me now. I don't blame you."

I was in shock; I couldn't say anything. Since words couldn't express what I felt for Peter in that moment, I posed my question in a different way: I launched forward on my knees, and wrapping my arms around Peter's waist, I thrust my ear against his chest. Still, there was nothing. "It's really gone, isn't it." Once again, I can deprive myself of a question mark.

Peter was too shocked by my behavior to respond, so he just nodded.

"Peter, I'm so sorry." I began to cry.

"Hey there, don't cry." He ran deft fingers through my hair.

After a while, we both lay down; I turned to face Peter and cupped his cheek with my hand. "I can save you, can't I."

No answer.

"I can give you your heart back."

Still no answer. Just those pale green eyes and a dejected look.

"How?"

Peter closed his eyes once again. It was almost as if he was trying to prevent himself from coming clean. At last, "Well, first things first." He leaned over and gabbed a golden bracelet, proffering it to me. "If you accept this as my gift of affection, I swear on my life that I will revoke all the others; I'll take them back tomorrow. I promise."

I took the shimmering bangle from his hand and placed it languidly on my own wrist, struggling to get it over the cloth-bracelet from before.

"Would you like to take that off?" he asked.

"It _won't_ come off – what is it, anyway?"

"My insurance policy." He smiled and leaned down, nuzzling my wrist. His green eyes pierced my own as he spoke. "It won't come off unless we…."

I suddenly understood. "Oh." There was no he _hadn't_ planned _that one_.

"We don't have to do this tonight."

"No," I interjected, "I…I want to. Tonight."

He smiled – a genuine smile. "You're not just saying that to get the bracelet off, are you?"

"Never." I said, brushing a hand through his pretty red hair.

"Alright, if you're sure…" he placed the thin piece of cloth between his teeth and bit, pulling gently against my wrist. After a few tugs and grunts, the fabric ripped and released my wrist.

"That's more like it." I said, rubbing my wrist where the thing had left a mark.

"Don't forget."

"I haven't. I wouldn't. I can't."

Peter leaned up and stared at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable. And out of nowhere, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. It was a little strange to be kissing the boy who I'd resolved not to like…but after feeling what he felt; after becoming a part of his secret, something drew me to him. I realized that yes, I'd been physically attracted to him all along, but only now did I truly like him, inside and out.

At first, we were just making out, maybe a few innocent kisses along my neck, but then he started taking it to a new level, and the name of that level was hot. It was almost like I was lost in his kiss because it was only after he'd snuck his hands up the back of my shirt that I'd known about it. I shuddered as his nails scraped gently over my skin, stopping to feel my own scar: the one thing that made me like him.

He pulled away from the kiss and said, "Don't you ever forget this."

"I won't. Don't stop."

"That's what they all said." He sounded unconvinced.

"I know." I pulled him on top of me, and he had to spread his legs over me to get comfortable.

Eventually, clothes became just another part of the scenery and skin was in. "Hold on." He whispered into my ear. He leaned up to blow out the candle. All was dark, and that was how I wanted it.

For a moment, I thought back to the day in the lagoon, that image I'd had; this was _so_ much better. Suddenly, I was brought back out of my memory by a surge of pain between my legs. "_Ow_!"

"What?"

"It…hurts!" I said through gritted teeth.

"You didn't tell me you've never done this before." He sounded…not angry, but concerned.

"A bigger point if it mattered."

"It does." He stopped moving and breathed; I watched as his arms shook with the effort of holding himself up – I'd never realized how lean and muscled Peter was. In an attempt to restart the action, I grasped his bicep and squeezed.

"Peter…_please_," I couldn't finish. He nodded quickly and resumed movement. It took a while, but it began to feel pretty good. "_Peter,_" I gasped a little when my back arched involuntarily. I felt my fingers curl, nails digging into his shoulders: I sighed as I felt every muscle in his body contract.

Ever at the mercy of a lover's obligation, Peter leaned down and began placing wet kisses on my neck, creating a trail as far down as his neck would allow, never once missing a beat in his thrusts. And then, about fifteen minutes later….

Peter collapsed. It felt good to have his body pressed entirely against mine versus above me. He kissed me quickly on the lips before resting his head on the pillow next to mine.

"Tell me…something." He panted, his sweet-smelling breath warming my ear. "Do you love me?"

It was hard for me to think in this lightheaded state. I had to really try to think. "Yes, I think so."

He let a very loud breath escape. Dissapointment.

"Yes, Peter. I love you…_God_, I love you!" Before I could stop myself, I hugged him tightly, wrapping my leg around his waist. My body felt as though I'd never be able to stop moving – it was as if my very skin was vibrating. He pushed away – not in a mean sort of way – and lay down on his back. While my body was in constant chaos, he seemed incredibly relaxed. It was only a matter of minutes before I lost all control over my impulses.

I leaned into his neck, inhaling his scent before kissing him, occasionally placing a lick somewhere. I allowed my hand to trail downward…he didn't need much reset time, apparently.

"Whoa, hey." He sounded surprised and I was proud of that.

"Hmm?" I licked a trail up to his ear. His whole body quivered.

"Again? Like, without any cuddling?" he sighed. "Alright, I can deal with that." He pulled me on top of him for a second time around.

o0o

Somehow, things changed. On the morning that followed, Peter seemed…more alive. His smile didn't seem like a wall – it wasn't just a mirror of the moon. It was a real, happy smile. Not in that "I just got laid" way, but in the "I feel so _good_" way.

I was still laying back on the bed, twirling the piece of gold around my wrist, appreciating how warm it had become: how it shimmered in the early light of dawn. Just then, Peter walked in; his hair was wet and he felt like that clean kind of soft.

"My love," he said. It sounded real. "You should probably go shower."

"Now?" I was tired and wanted to sleep some more.

"Well," he sounded torn between a deadline and my happiness. "It _is_ the third day…we haven't exactly finished our task yet. I mean," he sounded so uncomfortable. "There's still my…" he looked down.

I was suddenly wide-awake. "Your heart."

He nodded. "We're going down the river today…to see Amínah."

"Amínah? Who's that?"

"She's the woman who sold me the cinnamon powder. She'll be able to tell me things about our…current situation." Never before had I seen Peter in this state of mixed nervousness and exhilaration: my attraction to him intensified.

We'd gotten in a tiny wooden boat and Peter stood at the back, pushing the thing along with a long, timber pole. When I asked why we weren't flying, Peter simply shrugged and said, "Amínah likes it when people come by boat." Amínah's house turned out to be a small hut on stilts in the middle of a bog. Peter tied the boat to one of the stilts and stepped up on the platform before me, holding his hand out. I took it, and there was some slight sign of a spark.

When we stepped through the beads and curtains that covered her door, the room appeared to be abandoned. "Just wait," Peter said.

He sat down on the floor, but I couldn't help myself; I started looking at all the things on the shelves and whatever was hanging from the ceiling. There were feathers and cloves of garlic and all manner of different colored rocks and crystals. There were bones and books; claws and clouded crystal balls.

"Ahhh, Pe-tah! I was wondarin' when I'd be seein' those green eyes again." Amínah was a woman of dark skin and even darker eyes: she was dressed in a tattered white dress and several overly large necklaces. She wore plenty of bangles and bracelets, but not a flash of gold.

_Thank god_, I thought.

"What can I be doin' for ya' too-day?"

Peter inhaled and with the rush of breath that came out, he indicated me, "I need to know."

"Ahhh, I see." Amínah motioned for me to sit before her. "Put yar arms out on de table, young missy." I did; Peter was watching from his seat. He seemed to be doing his own assessment. Amínah felt up and down both my arms and then pressed the pads of my fingers and palms, each time muttering something in her own native tongue. "Stand." She commanded – not unkindly, but firmly. When I stood, Amínah bent low and started to feel up and down my legs, examining my muscles. It was awkward, but I was willing to suffer a little embarrassment for him.

"Well?" Peter asked when she went back to sit behind her table.

She smiled a toothy grin, revealing a few blacked-out teeth. "So impatient, young Pe-tah!"

"Young?" he scoffed.

"You know wat I meant." She placed her hands on her hips. The old woman took my hands once more, this time gazing down at my open palms. Then, she looked up at Peter, her black eyes glittering. "You know wat I tink? I tink dat she be da one, Pe-tah."

"Really?" He sounded so…enthusiastic. It was as though Christmas had just come early.

"You take good care of dis girl."

"Oh, believe me, I will!" After Peter and Amínah said their good-byes, it was back to the tree house.

o0o

Annulment: it's a word that everyone seems to hate. Unfortunately for me, not only did I become Peter's One-and-Only, but I also earned the hatred that would inevitably come with it. It wasn't actually too bad…except for when Tequila found out. That was a big, big mess.

I could handle the other mermaids not speaking with me, but Tequila had been my friend from the very beginning, so how could she not want this for me? For Peter?

"I can't believe you!" she screamed.

"What?" I shouted back. "What have I done? _You_ didn't seem to want to be with him!"

"If I couldn't be his One-and-Only, what makes _you_ the right person?"

"My blood, apparently!" I yelled. I could tell you the rest, but I'd rather not. It still hurts.

That night, I watched as Peter was counting out all the bracelets he'd collected that day.

"Peter, why can't we just go open the chest now? I mean, you kind of only have three days."

He kept counting as he answered me; the jingling was becoming annoying. "That key won't work until I get every single one of them back."

"Why is that?"

"Because," he said, "I had these things made to essentially replace my heart: that's why I give one to every girl I'm with." He let the last few slip into a pile beside his desk. "In order to exchange these things for my heart, I have to all but of them into the chest."

I mulled this over in my head, and then it hit me: "Oh _shit_!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Oh my god," I pressed my hands over my mouth. I felt so guilty. "The one I broke! That day we had the fight in the library! Remember?"

His face paled and his mouth opened. "You're right."

"Oh no, Peter! I'm so, so sorry! What are we going to do?" I was so frightened, because if we didn't get his heart back, Peter would be forced into a forfeit in that fight with Hook: he'd be forced to let Hook kill him.

In the time it took for my synapses to fire off, I'd destroyed my last hope for Peter. And this time, it really _was_ my fault.

* * *

A/n: Remember -- reviews equal new chapter. The chapter _is_ the cookie. 

xo, annie


	9. Chapter Eight: Always the Nth Degree

DISCLAIMER: I own no one but Alle/Rose and Aminah. Also, there is a _Gone With The Wind_ quote in here. Cookie to whoever can find the quote first.

* * *

Eight: Proposal

"How did he know?" Peter was pacing up and down the tree branch.

"Are you sure that's why he challenged you to do this? I mean, Hook _did_ mention the whole honor thing."

"That's why I think he did this: for all his talk of honor, he has none." Peter slumped down the trunk of the tree, hands cradling his head. "We were evenly matched to begin with."

I threw him a stern look, "Don't talk like that."

He looked up at me, misery emanating from those eyes. "You know I have none."

"No," I corrected, "You have plenty of honor. It's shame you lack." I thought about the problem for a moment or two while Peter muttered and ranted and raved to himself about our predicament. Then, as if it was the simplest thing, I thought, "Peter, I don't _need _this bracelet."

He looked up at me, dumbfounded. "You mean…"

"NO! All I'm saying is that maybe, we could put the one I'm wearing in the chest. We could trick the chest into thinking that the one we broke – "

"You mean the one _you_ broke?" he said sternly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah: don't rub it in! But yes, the one that _I_ broke is the one I'm wearing."

Peter sat on a higher branch and mulled it over. I couldn't find a single problem with it, and I couldn't imagine how he could either…but being that he was Peter, he did. "It won't work."

"Why not?" I have to admit here that I felt sort of demeaned.

"Because, Hook will want to see some sort of…physical evidence or something."

"How do you know that?"

"That's just the game he plays, and he never fights fair. Besides, the contract I bound myself to indicates that if you – the woman I'm with – doesn't wear some indication of being my One-and-Only, then…well, let's just say I'll be in for a very big adventure." He became very still and very quiet, trying to think of something else.

I began to feel incompetent, as if everything I said or did was a waste of time…and I knew how Peter viewed incompetence. It wasn't a very good view, either. I stared out to the ocean, and when I saw a small dot on the horizon, I aimed all of my anger, frustration and hurt at it as if maybe those feelings of intense emotion would just…cause it to sink right then and there.

"Well," Peter spoke so suddenly that I almost fell off the branch. At least this time, I could have caught myself.

"Yes?" I asked, not caring if I sounded too eager.

"There _is_ a loop-hole, but…I don't know." He was scratching his head as if in deep thought. "It seems a little risky to our…" he gulped, "Relationship."

Ignoring the urge to say, _Was it _that_ hard to say_, I said, "Well, what is it?"

He took a deep breath before saying it, as if he had to try and remember what he'd worked out inside his head. "The contract states that you must wear a token of my affection. It also states that it _must_ be something valuable." He paused. "It can't be like, clothing or something. It has to be something of value that you can wear…and when I had to pick an alternative…oh god." He closed his eyes and looked away.

"What?"

"I…I picked…"

"Yes?"

He looked at his shoes while he murmured his answer.

"What?"

"Ipickedaweddingring..." I couldn't for the life of me figure out what he'd said.

"Peter."

"I_said_Ipickedaweddingring!"

I quirked an eyebrow.

"I _SAID_," he shouted so loudly that I had to cover my ears; birds were flying out of the tree and a crowd was gathering quickly around the base of the tree. "I PICKED A WEDDING RING!!!" he was panting – people were sticking their heads out from their respective tree houses.

I felt the flush creep into my cheeks and my hands were dying to shake. "Oh."

"_Oh_? That…that's _it_?" I couldn't really tell if he was disappointed or relieved.

"Um…yeah."

"Ok."

"Why?"

He smiled. "I don't know. Kind of expected you to go all drama-queen on me." I laughed, and then he said, "So what do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he put a finger to his chin and looked upward, "If I were to hypothetically ask you if you wanted to go through with this – marrying me, I mean – would you want to? Hypothetically, of course." His voice resembled that of a businessman's.

"Um…" I was trying very hard not to confuse myself as I worked it out in my head. "Sure, _hypothetically_," I added, just to tease him. "I would say yes."

"Great!"

"Not that you ever asked me in the first place, Peter." I smiled. "It was all hypothetical, after all. And besides, I only said I would say yes if you asked me _hypothetically_."

His face fell and I tried my best not to laugh as I watched him. Then, within a few seconds he caught on. Perhaps it was cruel of me to tease him during such a serious time, but I just couldn't stop myself. "Ok," he said, "Then I'm asking you now – _not_ hypothetically." He added with an affected grin. "Will you marry me?"

First off, had we been in London and this was any other man, and I was still Alle, I'd have immediately said no. Second, it's hard to explain the effect being in Neverland and around Peter has on me, but it made me say, "You know what Peter? I think I will…_not_ hypothetically, either." I returned the joke.

"Wow…ok." He chortled.

"What?"

"It's just…I feel like I should be…I don't know…_dancing_ or some shit like that." His face was turning red now. I started laughing. "Don't make fun of me!" he yelled.

"I never said a word." I choked on my own laughter.

He sighed and pulled a face at me, which only made me laugh harder. I laughed so hard in fact, that I actually lost my balance, falling backwards off the tree branch. I recovered myself and drifted back up to the branch. "You ok?" he asked casually.

"Yeah."

"Then please excuse me for a moment whilst I dismiss our audience." Surely enough, the kids were all still either hanging out of their windows or looking up from the crowd. "THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE, FOLKS! I'M GETTING MARRIED!" I was laughing again, gripping the branch beneath me. "YOU CAN ALL GO HOME NOW!!"

o0o

The next day, we went to see Amínah again. This time, Peter explained his situation, and when he'd finished, the first thing she'd said was, "Pe-tah! You broke your contract!" She sounded very disappointed in him.

"Yes, believe me, I know. But, Rose and I discussed the options last night and we've come to a decision." It sounded funny to hear him speak with so much dignity in his voice.

"And dat decision is?" she put her hands to her hips.

"We're going to take the indemnity route." He took a deep breath. "We're going to get married."

Amínah's russet eyes lit up, and her strict look disappeared like loose gold in Pirate Cove. "Pe-tah! Are you sure dis is da path you want to choose?"

"Of course." He said without hesitation. That made me glow.

"Well, if you are sure…" she turned around and searched momentarily for a small, ivory box. It had a tiny label on it that read, _Petrus Annuli_: Peter's Ring. "She opened the box, and there it was – a shiny metal band with a green emerald imbedded in it. Amínah handed it to Peter, who gave me a kiss on each cheek, then on the forehead before kneeling and placing the band on my finger.

As the cold metal touched my finger, the emerald pulsed.

"It's…" I refused the impulse to cry. "It's beautiful."

"So is what we're doing." He said, touching my cheek.

Just then, Amínah cleared her throat, and Peter straightened himself up, stepping away from me. She looked at me expectantly.

"She wants to get this thing done, I suspect." Said Peter apologetically.

"Yes," she said, "As happy as I am for you, I _don't_ have all day." She rummaged around for a book, and flipped to the middle of it. She turned to Peter, and said, "_Factus qu, _Peter_, accipio _Rose Moon_ ut consum tuus mulieris nam aeternaliter_?"

He looked to her with a solemn but blissful look upon his face, and said, "_I suscepi_. I do."

Then, Amínah turned to _me_. Just before she spoke, her eyes seemed to speak volumes: _don't hurt him_. Then, the look was gone, and she resumed her speech. "_Et Factus qu, _Rose Moon_, accipio _Peter_ ut consum tuus viri nam aeternaliter_?" I didn't know _exactly_ what was being said, but I got the general idea.

Remembering what Peter had said, I repeated the words, "_I suscepi_," followed by the routine, "I do."

"Alright, Pe-tah, you know what to do." She smiled that toothy grin and Peter gave me one of his more enthusiastic kisses.

"So, that's it?"

"For now." Peter said. "But when I defeat Hook, we'll have our very own pirate ship, and you and I can have the grandest, most succulent, most decadent wedding Neverland has ever seen!" I giggled. "All the women in Neverland will be so jealous and they will be pea green with envy. And do you know what?"

"What, Peter my love?"

"My dear, when they tease you for it, you can tell them all to go to the devil!" he sounded so delighted.

I just couldn't resist: "But Peter, you were the main one I wanted to go to the devil."

He rolled his eyes and kissed me again.


	10. Chapter Nine: How Does It Feel?

Nine: Honeymoon

It was day six: tomorrow, on the seventh day, Peter would have to face Hook. I was resting before dinner because that morning, we'd gone to the Far Lake to retrieve the box with Peter's heart in it, and that in itself had been taxing. Since _I_ was the one with the key, _I_ had to be the one to go down and get the box.

I dove into the clear-looking lake only to discover that it was not really a lake at all; it was full of souls! Literally! I was disgusted at first, and came up spluttering, when Peter said, "It's ok, just find the chest and we can leave!"

I nodded and dove back under, trying to find the damn thing in all the murk. Peter was right; the souls didn't attack me. They just went on their way, drifting about. But it was so dark, which made it hard to find anything. Then, I thought for a moment about what I was trying to find: a heart. So…there should be thumping, right? I came up for breath, and when I went under again I listened more closely. And there it was: _thump-thump, thump-thump,_ growing ever stronger as I neared the chest.

There it was: a faint glow emanated against the murky pool of dead. I headed straight for it as fast as my legs would carry me. The glow was pulsating with the rhythm of the heartbeat. I reached out my hands to grab it, and felt a sudden shockwave of pain surge through my body as something collided with me: Tequila. She'd swam to the Far Lake using the river.

"_If I can't have him, no one can!"_ she screeched into the water.

Amongst the mass of souls and water, I grappled with the mermaid. Poor Peter was probably up there wondering what the hell had happened to me. I felt Tequila's sharp mermaid's teeth bite into my shoulder, making me bleed. I was sure I was going to drown. But then, something strange happened: the souls, sensing the blood, came after both of us. Feeling lightheaded from the wound Tequila had inflicted upon me, I was ready to just give up. Tequila on the other hand was struggling and thrashing about.

It seemed her struggle was more of an appeal than my willingness to die. They all came at Tequila, and despite mixed feelings about what I should do, I willed myself to go after the chest: I only had so much breath left. I grabbed it, thumping heart and all, and let myself float to the surface where I came up coughing and spluttering. "Peter!" I shouted.

I closed my eyes as I heard a splash; he'd dove in after me. I was relieved when I felt myself being pulled away to the shore – away from the scene of gore and monstrosity.

"Tequila." I said, inching back to the lake. "I…it's my fault…I…" I struggled to try and get away from Peter who was holding me back. "I have to," I coughed, "I have to save her!"

"No." Peter put a firm hand on my back, ensuring that I couldn't get away. "It's too late for her." He sounded very grave. I stopped my scuffling and let him hold me while I cried – I cried for Tequila. I cried for my stupid decisions. I cried for those lost souls who had just added one more to their imprisonment.

So now, here I was, face all tear-tracked and a guilty conscience. Peter had taken us to Amínah after we got his heart. She healed my wound just in time (apparently, mermaids have poisonous bites) and then Peter had flown me back.

"Why can't I stay with you, Peter?" I'd whined.

"Rose, I don't want you to see this." He'd said. "It's not something you should bare witness to." I wanted to fight to stay, but I had not the strength.

I was almost asleep when there was shouting and cheering and clapping. Tinkerbell – who had promised to look after me – stood up immediately and shouted in her tiny little pixie voice, "Up! Get up, Rose, he's back!" and with that, Tink zipped out from the room.

I groaned as I leaned up on my arms, trying to move. It was still a little bit painful, but it was worth it. I stretched and climbed down from the branch, landing safely cat-like on the ground below. There was a crowd of kids standing around a bare-chested Peter who was radiant with pride; they all reached out to touch him – to see if this was for real. And it was: I could even _hear_ the pulse of his heart beating away as he walked toward me.

He smiled at me and pulled me into a kiss…in front of everyone. There were mixed reactions of "_awww_"s and "_ewww_"s from the kids around us, depending on age, and of course, the older boys were all shouting "_yeah_"s at Peter, who took a few steps away form me.

Turning to face his band of misfits, Peter tipped his head back, and crowed.

o0o

Dinner had been sort of a belated wedding feast – Jack, Mica, Dré, Aiden and Marc had all gotten together and planned it out. There was pork and burger and salads of every kind; there were several fruit dishes, and too many soups for anyone to count. There were masses of cakes and pies, all in decorative colors and unimaginable flavors. But the thing that grabbed _my_ attention the most was the main dish: a roast Neverbird. It was huge!

The garnish around it was candied apples and sweet, honeyed peaches. It was glazed in some sort of wonderful barbeque sauce, and tasted better than any poultry I'd ever eaten. I think I was responsible for most of what disappeared on that bird.

After the feast, there was dancing and singing…and for those of us above the age of fourteen, alcohol. Nothing I'd ever heard of though: a special wine made from – what else? – Neverberries. It was sweet and strong, and tasted like a thousand different kinds of berries all at once. There was also Pirate's Ale (which turned out to be just buttered ale, who knew?), as well as chocolate champagne and little satchels of golden beer.

Once the little ones had gone to bed, believe me, that's when the _real_ revelry began. People were singing drunken sailor songs, a few girls had attempted a mermaid balled, and of course what was a drunken part without some very clumsy dancing? God, I don't think I've ever seen such a mess in all my life – I probably never will again…and between you and me, that's saying something!

And then, at some point, Peter leaned into me and, sounding not at all drunk, he said, "Hey. You know what?"

"What?" I wasn't smashed exactly, but sober certainly wouldn't have been the word to describe me.

"I think it's time you and I go and do this honeymoon the _right _way." He winked at me in the dark and grabbed my wrist. I giggled the whole way up to his room…_our_ room. When we got up there, he laid me down softly so as not to hurt my dizzy head.

"_Peter_," I whined.

He was already naked – I could always trust him to that – and laid down on me, body humming, emerald eyes glimmering. He kissed me: my cheeks, my neck, my lips; that kiss in particular had been wonderful. In all my life, I'd never known a kisser such as Peter. His tongue pressed against mine, flicking in and out of different speeds, driving me just a little bit crazy. Sharing a kiss with Peter was, on some level, better than sex: in _my_ mind, sex can be disassembled. Sex can become mechanical if you're not careful. Kissing? Never.

Although, the fact that Peter _was_ naked became increasingly hard to ignore. And besides, I had barely noticed when my own shirt came off, led alone the skirt. My heart was beating so fast, but it was like nothing I'd ever heard or felt to hear and feel Peter's returned heart beating with such pulsation.

"Babe," he whispered, sitting up and pulling me with him so that I was sitting in his lap. "I love you." He nuzzled my cheek, licked my neck. It was so…quiet, as he ran his hands down the front of my body; those huge hands somehow finding every curve, every crevice…every _secret_ I had. Not to mention, his tongue. Peter was a boy of almost utilitarian belief when it came to his own body: use anything and everything – that's why you have it.

I was practically melting right there in his lap, and he knew it. Unwilling to let him have all the fun, however, I reached a hand up and began with simple, innocent strokes to his soft red hair. In this light, it was like was finely spun copper. I kissed his hair as he leaned forward…. "Oh, _Peter_," I sighed. It was almost inevitable – like my throat had decided to break away from my body and make noises of its own accord.

"Get on your back," he said in a low, grinding whisper.

I did, thinking that he was going to get on top of me, and when he didn't, I was confused – until…a wet heat found its way between my legs. "Oh – my – _god_!" And after a while of that, he laid down next to me.

His shining eyes were lidded, becoming dimmer by the second. "Wanna' return the favor?"

I didn't even bother with words: actions had turned into answers. I slid down his body as I had only once before, and with just one lick, I heard a loud, longing groan rumble over my head.

"_Pleeeaaassse_, don't torture me!" he whimpered.

"I'll do whatever I want." I said teasingly…but really, I'm not _that_ mean. Of course, it wasn't long before… "You're lucky you taste good, Peter."

"Pfft."

"I'm serious."

"You wouldn't be able to stop yourself." He grinned. I lay next to him and looked at him. "What?"

I cleared my throat. "Some of us still have _issues_ that need to be taken care of."

"I'm working on it, I'm working on it." He snickered.

A few minutes went by. "What are you thinking about?"

A sly, sly smile: "You."

"Me? Doing what?"

He cracked an eye open. "You'll find out in a minute…maybe sooner." He raised his hips to illustrate his point. I learned early that Peter _never_ needed much reset time. Perhaps it came from being perpetually eighteen, but either way it didn't matter right at that moment. When he finally kneeled and blew out the candle, he said, "How's your shoulder?"

"Fine. Why?" Seemed like a pretty strange question considering the circumstances.

"Cause, I want you on your hands and knees."

"_Oh_." It didn't take long to figure out what was about to happen. Wow, was I right – my stomach was starting churn just from feeling Peter's warm, lean body bend over me, his arms reaching down to capture my tightened wrists.

"Relax," he whispered into my ear. I let my wrists loosen a bit, but only just: I knew that if I gave up control completely, they'd give out. Then, his hand traced back up my arm and over… "You like that?" I could hear his smile.

"Mmhmm."

"It's not the best part, ya' know." And before I could grasp his meaning, there was a sharp thrust behind me.

"_Peter!_"

He laughed cynically, "Thought so."

After only a few minutes of Peter rolling his bony hips I was done for: my wrists _did_ give out and I fell forward, my head buried in the pillows as Peter sped up, finding his own orgasm just in time for me. I wouldn't be surprised if all of Neverland had heard us.

o0o

The morning after our little 'honeymoon' things seemed fine…until Peter took it upon himself to remember what day it was. "Day seven…" he whispered, then sat up abruptly.

"Peter…please wait? It's still morning. Let's take a bath together…let's eat breakfast together." I reached over and slid my arms around his slender waist. "I'm not ready to let you leave!"

He twisted in my grasp and ran his calloused fingers through my hair. "Then I won't leave yet." And placing a kiss on my hand, he laid down again, and we slept the morning away.


	11. Chapter Ten: Politics

Ten: "Open War Is Upon Us, Whether You Would Risk It Or Not."

Peter was not the only one going, or so it would seem. The Lost Boys and Girls – every one of them, older and young – were preparing as if this was _their_ battle as well. Everyone was donning armor (bamboo plates) and war paint (squashed Neverberries). Only Peter looked like he really meant business: his usual green tunic had been replaced with a black one; his shorts, traded in for sturdy, black leather trousers. Gold plates and silver bindings adorned his arms and legs; light boots covered his typically bare feet. Black charcoal lined his eyes to make them appear fiercer, and his lips were covered with white powder – black and red lines striped down his nose and across both cheeks.

And at his side, tucked into its sheath, was his great golden sword.

When all was ready, and everyone was set to leave, Peter turned to face the crowd. "Today." He said. A look like that I've never seen crossed his face. "Today is the day."

Cheers.

"Today is the day that Hook will die!"

Cheers. Applause. Complete and total chaos.

o0o

We marched from the tree house across the green planes of Neverland and out to Pirate Cove. There, in the harbor, was the _Marauder's Virtue_, docked and ready for taking. A crowd of townsfolk had gathered around the docks. Women who were torn between their infatuation with Peter and the ever-charming Captain James Hook; men who couldn't wait to see the death of the one-and-only Pan: wife-stealer extraordinaire. Children who were holding their breath for their childhood hero.

Our party stopped at the edge of the stone ledge where the ship was. The crew was ever-present, but there was no sign of Hook. No ramp to lead us onto the ship.

Peter looked around, his maniacal smile twice as sinister. The boys and girls chuckled along with him – I didn't know what to do. "Seems the Codfish is scared." Said Peter, and turned back. Facing the ship, he shouted, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, Hook! I'm waiting!" It seemed that along with regaining his heart, Peter had found a new reason to tempt fate.

When there was no answer, Peter laughed heartily, throwing his head back.

"See? Hook's nothing but a Codfish! Maybe I should feed the rest of him to the croc!"

"What was that, Peter?" A smooth voice cut through Peter's jagged edge. "Codfish? Perish the thought!" Hook stepped into view, his namesake glittering eerily in the bright afternoon sun. "Come up here Peter, and show me what you've got."

A wooden board came suddenly over the rail of the ship and landed before Peter. Peter stepped forward, as did many others.

"Oh, and one more thing." Said Hook. "You can only bring one other on board."

Peter wrinkled his nose at Hook. "Fine." He spat. He nodded to me, and as I passed by him, he whispered. "Stay out of the way; I don't want you getting hurt."

In that instant, I felt insulted. How could Peter think me in the way? I knew the Rule. I sat on the rail, away from the crew and away from both Hook and Peter. The swarm of boys and girls behind me were craning their necks to see what was about to happen.

Peter and Hook circled each other for a moment. "I've been waiting for this day for many years, Peter." Said Hook.

"I know." Peter replied. "And I promise, I won't let you down. After all, Hook, Death will be your greatest adventure." And with a smile plastered to his face, Peter struck. His sword clashed as it met with the silver blade in Hook's hand. Sparks seemed to emanate from both the swords and the eyes of their masters.

Oohs and Ahhs mingled with the cracks and ringing of battle as the townsfolk, crew, and kids behind me all wondered at the amazing trickery and swordplay as Peter battled Hook – or James battled Pan. Whichever side you were on. Either way, it was intense. There were several moments where it appeared that one or the other had the upper hand, but soon, Hook had cornered Peter.

Peter's head was inclined as he tried to avoid Hook's sword, which was coming ever closer to its mark with every jab. Then, Hook reeled back and with one swish of his silver sword, he cut away a piece of Peter's tunic. Pale, milky skin, and…

"Ahhh, yes: your infamous first tattoo. Well now, let's see if you've _really_ kept your promise, Pan." Hook reached out his hand and touched the patch of skin that was encircled by the rugged tattoo. "Well, look at that. I'm surprised you actually did it, Peter. I didn't think you could."

Peter squinted in the sunlight, trying to glare at Hook, but I could tell that already, he was breaking down.

"To be honest Peter," Hook said, stepping away and giving Peter some space, "I thought you'd lie again. Because, that's how you always do it: you lie."

The crowd was responding to this as well. It didn't look good at all.

"Every girl you've ever had, everyone you've ever known, even _yourself_, Peter. It truly is amazing, you know."

Then, Peter lunged. "Shut your mouth, _old man_." And as soon as the words slipped from Peter's lips, something extraordinary happened. Hook seemed to be growing rapidly older! His curly black hair became straight and silvery. A white mustache appeared under his nose; he even seemed to grow taller, and slightly hunched.

Peter knocked Hook into a mast and held his golden sword long-ways beneath his throat.

"Neverland is _mine_, Hook. And what I say, goes. My lies are truth. If I say day is night, then it shall be so!"

There was silence.

"When I left, what became of Neverland? Hmm?" Peter's face was stained with running paint. "The clock stopped, didn't it? Bet you loved that, didn't you, you old Codfish. Because when the clock stopped, you didn't have to think about how your time is running out." Peter leaned in close. "Hook," His voice became slightly singsong, "Your time is _up_." And with those words, Peter pulled Hook away from the mast and sliced his head clean off. I gasped, bringing my hands to my mouth – it was disgusting.

But behind me were cheers from most, although some stayed themselves, bringing hats and hands to their chests. Then, Peter rose into the air and crowed. Three times. Realizing defeat, Hook's crew walked off the ship. In place of a band of rotten men, the Lost Boys and Girls boarded the ship. Two of them were carrying the chest that had once held Peter's heart; now it was filled with golden bangles. Peter stepped before the chest and took off every single one of the bangles on his arms and ankles. As the last one slipped into the chest, he closed the lid.

He turned to me. "Rose. Your key?"

I went to hand it to him, but he refused it.

"No, my love. _You_ must lock it." His green eyes were hopeful. And then, I realized what I'd done: I'd married Peter Pan. I'd given up my home; my family, and everything I'd ever known. All for a killer. But then again…he wasn't that. No. If only because this was still one big game of pretend, I leaned low. Taking the key from my shirt, I placed in the keyhole and turned it. A loud click filled the air, and that was the end of it:

Peter's treasure had been returned, and now the exchange could be made.

We took the chest to Amínah, who said that the only way to ensure that Peter's heart was safe and could remain locked where it was – inside his _real_ chest and not a wooden one – was to bring the heart-shaped box to the volcano on Hangman's Island. So we agreed that we would set out to Hangman's Isle after we had a rest.

It's a good thing we got a bit of a vacation in first.

Peter and I spent three months on the ocean in our new ship, which he'd renamed the _Luna_ _Rosa_: the Rose Moon. We did nothing but sail and sing and dance and drink…well, of course. There _was_ something else, but you already know that.

Then came the day where we had to sail to Hangman's Island.


	12. Epilogue

Your Inbox Will Never Be Empty

Amínah was already there at the top of the volcano by the time we reached it. She stood beside the heated cauldron with the chest in hand. "Be you ready, Pe-tah?" she asked in her thick Indies accent.

"Yes." He said. He grabbed my hand. I squeezed, comforting him.

I rested my head on his shoulder and we stood, waiting. When nothing happened, he looked to Amínah for an explanation.

"Pe-tah," she said, her eyes filling with sympathy. "You must be the one to do this. It is _your_ heart."

Peter straightened. He became rigid with fear. He walked forward, and I made to go with him, but Amínah stuck her hand out. She held me away from him.

"No, child. He must do this alone." She rubbed my back as I shook a little. Poor, poor Peter. I hoped he could do this…

He stepped forward and stared at the chest. The heat rippled throughout the air – ash and soot blew up around us. The gushing sound of the bubbling, molten fire below us churned in my ears. He leaned down and fingered the handles, the lock, the wood. He leaned close to it, and whispered something. Then, he stood, and nudged it forward with his foot. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he knocked it off the edge of the cauldron and into the chasm below. We watched as it dissolved: the gold seemed to cling to the surface the longest, but eventually, it melted.

Peter's treasure was no more.

I stepped forward and embraced him against the heat. He hugged me tighter than I'd ever been hugged – this had really been hard for him to do. I'm sure he was crying, but the intense, dry heat swallowed up his tears almost as soon as they left his pretty green eyes.

When we finally parted, I smiled and said, "You're free Peter."

"Yeah," he scuffed his foot. "Free…"

Just then, Amínah screeched. "PE-TAH! YOUR SHADOW!!"

We all looked to the ground where our shadows were lingering beneath the dusk…all except for Peter's.

"Not again." Peter said. He began searching the ground, looking for any sign of his shadow. The longer it took him, the more anxious he became. "Where is it?" he asked frantically.

"Pe-tah," Amínah said, "What if…what if it wasn't lost just now?"

"No." he said.

"Peter, come to think of it, I haven't seen your shadow since yesterday." I didn't really understand the gravity of the situation.

"You don't understand!" He said. "I _need_ my shadow! I'm not completely _me_ without it!"

We both turned to Amínah, both of us expecting an answer; a solution. She smiled toothily and said, "Pe-tah, I tink you know what this means."

He cocked his head.

"Go on, you know what to do." She said.

Peter smiled and looked at me. "We should go back to the ship."

"But Peter, your shadow!"

"I know. I guess it's time for another adventure, then." And with that, the next great adventure of Peter Pan began.

The End


End file.
